i 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


Ir 


THE  RESCUE  OF  AN  OLD 
PLACE 

BY 

MARY  CAROLINE  ROBBINS 


When  Epicurus  to  the  world  had  taught 

That  pleasure  was  the  chiefest  good, 
(And  was  perhaps  i'  the  right,  if  rightly  understood,) 

His  life  he  to  his  doctrine  brought, 
And  in  a  garden's  shade  that  sovereign  pleasure  sought. 

ABRAHAM  COWLEY 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY 
p«00,  CambnDgr 
1900 


Copyright,  1892, 
JJv  MARY  CAROLINE  ROBBINS. 

All  rigkts  reserved. 


FOURTH    IMPRESSION. 


Tkf  Riverside  Pr*u,  Cambridge.  Man.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghtoo  &  Company. 


To  J.  H.  R. 

i  DttJtcatf 

THKSB  RECORDS  OP  OUR  HAPPY  YEARS 
Or  WORK  AND  HOPS. 


M363518 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction vii 

I.   The  Old  Place i 

II.   Planting  Willows  and  Pines n 

III.  A  Baby  Forest 23 

IV.  Clearing  Up 35 

V.   On  the  Perversity  of  Certain  Trees   ...  51 

VI.   The  Wreck  of  an  Ancient  Garden     ...  63 

VII.   A  New  Perennial  Garden 75 

VIII.   A  Venerable  Orchard 85 

IX.   A  Struggle  with  the  Web-worm    ....  97 

X.   Planting  Trees  on  a  Lawn in 

XI.   Reclaiming  a  Salt  Meadow 123 

XII.    Terraces  and  Shrubs 137 

XIII.  Evergreens  in  Spring 151 

XIV.  The  Love  of  Flowers  in  America  ....  165 
XV.   The  Rose-Chafer 177 

XVI.  Sufferings  from  Drought 191 

XVII.  The  Blessing  of  the  Rain 203 

XVIII.  Discouragements 215 

XIX.  A  Water  Garden 229 

XX.  Landscape  Gardening 245 

XXI.  The  Waning  Year  and  its  Suggestions  .     .  261 

XXII.  Utility  versus  Beauty 277 


INTRODUCTION 

These  chapters,  which  originally  ap- 
peared in  Garden  and  Forest,  were  written 
partly  to  acknowledge  a  debt  for  many 
practical  suggestions  derived  from  its 
pages,  which  helped  us  in  our  efforts  to 
bring  harmony  and  beauty  out  of  neglect 
and  desolation  in  one  of  the  "abandoned 
farms"  of  Massachusetts;  and  at  the 
same  time  to  show  the  pleasure  and  inter- 
est we  found  in  endeavoring  to  create  a 
garden  and  forest  of  our  own. 

The  experiments  that  I  relate  are  by 
no  means  completed,  and  the  mistakes 
made  will  call  for  sympathy,  as  the  suc- 
cesses will  claim  congratulations ;  but  to 
those  who  will  kindly  go  with  me  along 
the  way  we  have  come,  at  all  events  the 
story  ought  to  show  what  can  be  done  with 
moderate  expense,  by  the  aid  of  such  ex- 
cellent publications  as  are  now  within 

vii 


Introduction 


reach  of  every  one,  and  how,  by  loving 
labor,  the  old  may  he  made  to  add  charm 
and  dignity  to  the  new,  while  the  new 
lends  purpose  and  meaning  to  the  old. 
What  has  given  so  much  delight  in  doing, 
must,  it  seems  to  me,  give  pleasure  when 
told,  and  it  is  in  this  hope  that  I  venture 
to  detail  our  very  simple  experience. 

M.  C.  R. 

y  October  8,  1891. 


I 

THE   OLD  PLACE 


In  a  coign  of  the  cliff  between  lowland  and  high- 
land, 
At  the  sea-down's  edge  between  windward  and 

lee, 
Walled  round  with  rocks  as  an  inland  island, 

The  ghost  of  a  garden  fronts  the  sea. 
A  girdle  of  brushwood  and  thorn  encloses 

The  steep  square  slope  of  the  blossomless  bed 
Where  the  weeds  that  grew  green  from  the  graves 
of  its  roses 
Now  lie  dead. 

SWINBURNE. 


I 


IN  the  very  heart  of  old  New  Old  houses 
England  towns  there  may  often 
be  seen  some  dilapidated  house 
falling  into  ruins,  surrounded 
by  half -dead  fruit-trees  and  straggling 
shrubs,  while  an  adjacent  garden,  once 
productive  and  blooming,  runs  to  waste 
beside  it.  Its  gates  are  off  the  hinges, 
the  fences  falling  to  pieces,  the  hedges 
untrimmed,  the  flower-beds  smothered  in 
weeds;  coarse  burdocks  and  rampant  wild 
vines  encumber  the  ground  and  run  over 
into  the  highway,  the  trim  paths  have 
disappeared,  the  out-houses  are  toppling 
over :  forlornness  and  abandonment  speak 
in  every  line  of  the  decaying  house,  the 
former  gentility  of  which  renders  its  de- 
cline still  more  melancholy. 

It  was  such  a  dreary  old  place  as  this 
that  attracted  our  attention  when  we  first 
came    to    settle    in  Massachusetts.   Why 
3 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

such  a  desirable  spot  should  have  fallen 
into  disrepute  was  always  a  surprise,  for 
the  situation  in  itself  was  excellent,  the 
estate  running  for  ni.ie  hundred  feet  along 
the  main  street  of  the  town,  and  lying 
about  half  way  between  the  two  villages 
known  in  popular  parlance  as  The  Plain 
and  Broad  Bridge,  so  that  it  was  only  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  post-office  of 
one,  while  the  railway  station  of  the  other 
was  within  a  ten  minutes'  moderate  walk 
for  a  man.  Moreover,  it  commanded  a 
lovely  inland  view,  and  had  an  unusual 
variety  of  surface  to  make  it  interesting, 
as  well  as  a  fertile  soil  for  grass  and  gar- 
den. 
A  phasing  The  view  was  what  particularly  ap- 

prospect.  .  '  J 

pealed  to  us,  for  it  comprised  a  charming 
stretch  of  salt  meadow,  with  a  blue  stream 
winding  through  it  like  a  ribbon,  skirted 
by  low,  heavily  wooded  hills,  with  a  dis- 
tant glimpse  of  houses  overtopped  by  the 
masts  of  the  shipping  in  the  harbor. 
From  the  higher  levels  of  the  farm  one 
could  catch  a  glimpse,  when  the  leaves 
were  off  the  trees,  of  a  strip  of  blue  sea, 
and  Boston  Light  could  plainly  be  seen 
4 


The  Old  Place 


revolving  after  sundown,  while  of  a  still 
evening  the  monotonous  roll  of  the  waves 
upon  the  beach  could  be  clearly  heard. 

The  old  house,  which  we  vainly  tried  to  The  ruined 
find  habitable,  had  stood  for  two  hundred  hou"' 
years,  and  must  have  been  a  fine  dwelling 
in  its  day  ;  its  rooms,  though  low-ceiled, 
being  spacious  and  numerous,  and  their 
outlook  picturesque.  It  was  ill-planned 
for  modern  ideas,  though  many  of  its  con- 
temporaries in  this  ancient  town  are  still 
occupied,  and  by  a  little  alteration  made 
very  comfortable  ;  while,  owing  to  neglect 
and  ill  usage  by  tenants,  the  owners  hav- 
ing long  since  moved  away,  it  was  in  a 
condition  of  hopeless  disrepair.  The  floors 
had  settled,  and  the  walls  with  them,  un- 
til in  some  of  the  lower  rooms  there  were 
gaps  beside  the  beams  of  the  ceiling,  in 
which  rats  or  squirrels  had  made  their 
nests,  so  that  supplies  of  nuts  were  to  be 
seen  safely  stored  away  in  the  holes.  The 
window-panes  were  broken,  the  shingles 
mossgrown  and  ragged,  the  chimneys  fall- 
ing into  ruins,  and  the  sills  had  rotted 
away.  Moreover,  the  road  that  wound  by 
the  door  had  been  so  raised  by  the  accre- 
5 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

tion  of  two  hundred  years,  that  the  part  of 
the  place  around  the  house  lay  in  a  hollow, 
and,  there  being  no  one  to  complain,  the 
town  dug  water-ways  and  coolly  drained 
the  road  over  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
so  that,  after  a  spring  freshet,  piles  of 
sand  were  to  be  found  all  over  the  grass, 
giving  the  farm  a  water-logged  aspect  that 
added  to  its  disrepute. 
We  tmy  the  From  this,  and  from  the  fact  that,  situ- 
atecj  as  -t  was  between  the  two  villages, 
it  formed  absolutely  a  part  of  neither  of 
them  —  to  us  an  advantage  rather  than  a 
drawback,  but  to  the  town's-people  an  ob- 
jection —  it  resulted  that  when  the  farm 
was  put  up  at  auction,  some  ten  years  ago, 
no  purchaser  could  be  found  at  any  price. 
Finally,  convinced  that  the  land  was  worth 
more  without  the  house  than  with  it,  the 
owner  took  it  down,  and,  to  the  great 
amusement  and  consternation  of  the  old 
farmers,  who  despised  the  spot,  we  bought 
the  place  for  a  moderate  sum,  having  con- 
vinced ourselves  by  careful  examination 
that  it  would  at  least  give  us  an  occupa- 
tion for  the  rest  of  our  natural  lives  to  get 
it  into  condition ;  and  as  that  was  what 
6 


The  Old  Place 


one  of  us  wanted,  we  were  disposed  to  try 
what  could  be  made  of  it,  and  confound 
our  critics. 

Then  arose  in  the  village  a  murmur  of 
disapprobation  and  superior  wisdom,  such 
as  is  apt  to  follow  any  purchase  in  a  New 
England  country  town. 

"  What  does  the  doctor  want  of  that  for-  Comments 

of  the 

lorn  old  hole  ?  Only  a  salt-ma'sh  to  look  at, 
and  the  road  a-drainin'  right  into  it  all  the 
time.  Ain't  no  place  to  put  a  house  ;  too 
shady  and  wet  where  the  old  one  was,  and 
ef  he  goes  up  on  the  hill  he  '11  jest  blow 
away.  Used  to  be  a  good  farm  in  the  old 
man's  time  ;  best  garden  spot  in  town,  but 
pretty  well  run  out  now  ;  and  the  fences ! 
It  '11  take  all  he  '11  earn  to  keep  them 
fences  in  repair  ;  half  a  mile  o'  fencin'  ef 
there  's  a  rod." 

And  so  the  croaking  went  on  behind 
our  backs,  and  sometimes  to  our  faces, 
with  only  a  word  of  good-will  now  and 
then  from  people  who  recalled  the  charm 
of  the  old  place  when  it  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  family,  and  hoped  that  something 
of  it  might  in  time  be  restored. 

We  ourselves,  left  face  to  face  with  our 
7 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

bargain,  went  over  the  land,  now  our  own, 
and  took  heart  of  grace  as  we  planned  our 
first  improvements,  and  decided  on  a  site 
for  the  house.  When  we  took  an  account 
of  stock,  this  is  what  we  found  :  — 
A  qwer.  A  curiously  shaped  piece  of  land,  some- 

thing like  the  State  of  Maryland,  omitting 
the  Eastern  Shore.  The  long  front  of 
about  nine  hundred  feet,  lying  upon  the 
main  street,  at  its  southern  end  was  nearly 
six  hundred  feet  in  depth ;  but  this  part  of 
the  place  was  a  barren  gravelly  hill,  which 
had  been  pastured  until  nothing  was  to  be 
found  upon  it  but  a  thin,  wiry  grass,  full  of 
white-weed  and  a  growth  of  short  briers. 
In  the  autumn  it  was  a  blaze  of  Golden- 
rod.  The  hill  sloped  steeply  to  the  north 
and  northeast,  so  that  the  side  of  it  was 
exposed  and  cold,  the  wind  sweeping  up 
across  the  meadow  from  the  sea  in  bleak- 
est gusts.  This  we  at  once  determined 
was  the  place  to  plant  Pines,  with  a  view 
to  a  subsequent  forest.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill  was  a  fertile  swale  of  excellent  grass 
land,  which  intervened  between  it  and  a 
second  rise  of  land,  which  was  the  termi- 
nation of  another  gravelly  hill,  through 
8 


The  Old  Place 


which  the  main  street  had  been  cut,  leaving 
upon  our  side  a  small  knoll,  from  which 
the  ground  sloped  in  every  direction,  mak- 
ing a  perfectly  drained  and  slightly  ele- 
vated spot  for  a  house,  an  excellent,  but 
rather  limited  situation,  perfectly  barren 
of  trees  and  requiring  much  grading. 

On  the  north  side  of  this  knoll  was  an- 
other abrupt  slope,  and  then  the  ground 
swept  on  below  the  level  of  the  highway, 
gradually  narrowing,  as  a  back  street,  run- 
ning obliquely,  came  to  intersect  the  main 
road  at  the  northern  extremity  of  the 
place,  where  was  an  Apple  orchard  of  im- 
mense old  trees  whose  bending  boughs 
swept  the  ground  ;  and  in  the  very  point 
a  wilderness  of  Locusts  and  Wild  Cher- 
ries. 

The  site  of  the  old  house,  shaded  by  The  old  site 
some  fine  Elms  and  White  Ashes,  was  too  Si>rl~ 
near  both  streets  to  be  at  all  desirable,  newluntse- 
though  the  shrubbery  and  the  tangled  re- 
mains of  an  old  flower-garden  rendered  it 
very  attractive;  but  at  the  rear  the  salt- 
marsh   was   in   too  close  proximity,  and 
about  half  an  acre  bordering  on  the  back 
street  was  so  overflowed  at  times  by  salt 
9 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

water  that  it  would  only  afford  a  crop  of 
marsh-grass. 

The  neighborhood  of  this  meadow  was 
thought  to  be  one  of  the  drawbacks  of  the 
spot  by  many;  but  knowing  that  it  was 
perfectly  wholesome,  and  certainly  beauti- 
.  ful,  to  us  it  was  only  an  added  advantage, 
so  long  as  the  gravelly  knoll  gave  us  so 
good  a  foundation  for  our  dwelling. 

A£owL  °*  ^ur  ^rst  Pr°blem>  tne  fences,  we  deter- 
mined to  deal  with  by  planting  Willows. 
The  barren  hillside  was  to  be  screened 
with  Pines,  and  procuring  and  setting  these 
was  our  first  subject  for  consideration. 


II 


PLANTING    WILLOWS  AND 
PINES 


"  Willow !  in  thy  breezy  moan 

I  can  hear  a  deeper  tone ; 
Through  thy  leaves  come  whispering  low 
Faint  sweet  songs  of  long  ago  — 
Willow,  sighing  willow  !  " 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

«*  Who  liveth  by  the  ragged  pine, 
Foundeth  an  heroic  line." 

EMERSON. 


II 


|HEN  one  has  nearly  half  a  mile 
of  boundary  to  define  around 
his  four-acre  lot,  the  question 
arises  how  it  can  be  inclosed 
with  the  least  expense  and  trouble,  and  in 
such  a  way  as  not  to  disfigure  the  grounds. 
With  this  problem  we  had  now  to  deal. 

The  front  upon  the  main  street,  thanks 
to  the  sociable  fashion  of  our  day,  it  would 
be  quite  proper  to  leave  open,  with  only 
such  screen  of  shrubs  and  trees  as  we 
should  decide  upon  when  the  house  was 
built,  and  the  lawn  properly  graded.  Part 
of  it  was  already  well  hedged  in  with  an- 
cient bushes,  which  straggled  about  where 
the  old  house  stood,  in  most  admired  dis- 
order. But  all  along  Winter  Street,  as  the 
road  behind  us  is  somewhat  ambitiously 
designated,  the  fence  was  tumbling  down} 
and  the  whole  garden  spot  lay  uncomfort- 
ably open  to  view,  as  well  as  to  the  cold 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

We  decide  east  winds  that  blow  across  the  meadow 
from  the  sea.  We  decided  that  here  a 
row  of  Willows  would  come  in  admirably, 
as  there  would  be  plenty  of  rich  moist  soil 
for  the  young  trees  to  root  in,  and  with 
such  a  protection  the  wind-swept  garden 
would  in  time  be  warm  and  secluded, 
while  the  silvery  foliage  would  be  a  har- 
monious setting  for  the  emerald  meadow 
and  the  sapphire  stream. 

This  idea  we  carried  out  the  week  after 
we  made  our  purchase.  A  friendly  far- 
mer neighbor,  compassionating  our  folly  in 
starting  such  an  enterprise,  but  anxious  to 
see  what  we  would  make  out  of  the  place, 
kindly  offered  to  give  us  as  many  cuttings 
as  we  wanted  ;  so  one  bright  day  in  June 
he  appeared  upon  the  scene  with  a  cart- 
load of  Willows,  a  crowbar,  and  a  hatchet, 
and,  with  a  man  or  two  to  help  him,  before 
night  he  had  cut  and  driven  firmly  into 
holes,  easily  punched  by  the  crowbar  in 
the  soft  soil,  some  five  hundred  bare 
stakes,  every  one  of  which  in  a  few  weeks 
put  forth  a  crop  of  roots  and  leaves. 

The  stakes,  sharpened  at  the  end,  were 
about  three  feet  in   length,  one  foot  of 
14 


Planting  Willows  and  Pines 

which  was  driven  into  the  ground,  and  HOW  we  did 
firmly  stamped  into  place.  It  was  found 
better,  in  driving  them,  to  have  them  set  at 
an  angle  of  about  twenty  degrees,  with  the 
tops  pointing  toward  the  south,  so  that 
the  stems  did  not  receive  the  full  force  of 
the  midday  and  afternoon  sun.  We  used 
the  common  White  Willow  (Salix  alba\ 
which  abounds  along  swampy  roadsides 
everywhere  in  New  England. 

These  trees  have  all  thriven  well,  though 
owing  to  the  marsh  being  salter  in  certain 
places  than  in  others,  some  have  grown 
less  rapidly  than  their  companions.  The 
fear  of  the  salt  water  led  us  into  the  error 
of  planting  one  row  of  trees  at  first  inside 
the  fence,  and  at  some  distance  from  it, 
where  the  presence  of  Clover  and  English 
Grass  showed  that  the  top  soil  was  fresh. 
Subsequently,  when  they  were  all  well 
rooted,  we  removed  them  to  the  outside 
along  the  highway,  where  they  now  begin 
to  make  an  agreeable  shade  and  an  effec- 
tive screen.  The  annual  dumpings  of  sand 
made  by  the  town  along  the  edge  of  the 
road,  to  maintain  its  level,  which  con- 
stantly tends  to  sink  into  the  marsh  across 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

which  it  has  been  carefully  built,  seem  to 
help  the  trees,  which  continue  to  send  out 
surface-roots  as  the  ground  rises  about 
them ;  and  though  some  of  them  during 
their  first  seasons  had  a  sorry  time  of  it 
in  dry,  hot  weather,  they  ultimately  pulled 
through,  and  are  no  longer  sources  of  anx- 
iety. 

The  barren  The  most  exposed  portion  of  the  place 
being  thus  provided  for,  we  turned  our  at- 
tention to  the  barren  hillside,  which  was 
a  pretty  hopeless-looking  spot  for  trees  of 
any  kind.  This  elevation,  some  forty  feet 
high  and  running  back  nearly  six  hundred 
feet  from  the  main  street,  seems  to  be  the 
bank  of  some  former  water-way ;  at  least 
I  like  to  fancy  that  the  odd  terraces, 
which  break  its  otherwise  even  slope,  re- 
present the  gradual  subsidence  of  some 
body  of  water  which  must  once  have  filled 
the  gorge,  when  the  present  meadow  was 
an  arm  of  the  sea.  Gravel  and  sand, 
mixed  with  moderate-sized  cobblestones, 
are  its  constituent  parts,  nothing  like  a 
boulder  having  come  so  far  down.  We 
have  often  regretted  that  some  of  the  no- 
ble rocks  which  abound  on  the  other  side 
16 


Planting  Willows  and  Pines 

of  the  street,  farther  up  the  former  stream, 
were  not  on  our  hill  to  form  a  feature  in 
our  landscape-gardening,  marked  as  they 
are  with  the  scratches  which  show  the 
grinding  of  some  primeval  glacier. 

Over  the  rough  foundation  of  our  hill  a  character 
thin  soil  has  formed  itself;  fairly  deep  on  «"*"* 
the  level  top  where  the  plain  begins,  but 
constantly  washed  off  down  the  sides  into 
the  swale  below.  It  seems  hardly  possi- 
ble that  trees  can  ever  have  grown  here, 
nor  are  there  the  smallest  traces  of  any  in 
or  upon  the  soil ;  but  here  we  resolved 
that  trees  should  grow;  and  again  the 
farmers  mocked  at  such  a  wild  idea,  and 
looked  forward  with  sombre  satisfaction 
to  our  discomfiture. 

But  how  to  set  about  it  ? 

To  plow  the  surface,  unless  we  could  A  harmless 

,  ...     tumble. 

yoke  a  goat  to  the  plow,  seemed  impossi- 
ble, since  we  had  just  seen  a  man  and 
a  horse  and  a  dump-cart  roll  together,  in 
a  confused  but  unharmed  heap,  from  the 
top  to  the  bottom,  on  account  of  an  incau- 
tious step  off  the  level.  Even  if  we  could 
have  plowed  the  ungrateful  soil,  of  what 
use  would  it  have  been,  since  there  was 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

nothing  to  bring  to  the  surface  but  stones  ? 
Cultivation  being  apparently  out  of  the 
question,  the  trees  would  have  to  take 
their  chance,  and  a  wretched  chance,  too, 
for  the  south  shore  of  Massachusetts  Bay 
is  subject  to  long  and  severe  droughts, 
and  to  several  months  of  hot  weather  in 
the  summer. 

A  north  But  here  we  were  upheld  by  our  author- 

s$epZ.  ities.  An  excellent  book  on  forestry  gave 
us  some  consoling  statistics,  and  later,  our 
favorite  horticultural  journal  was  invalu- 
able in  its  suggestions.  We  found  that  in 
reforesting  hills  in  France  and  Switzerland 
that  had  been  swept  bare  by  avalanches, 
a  northeast  slope  proved  the  most  favor- 
able exposure  for  the  growth  of  young 
Pines,  and,  if  we  had  nothing  else,  we  had 
plenty  of  north  and  east,  with  the  winds 
thrown  in ;  so,  if  that  was  the  sort  of  thing 
that  they  liked,  why,  bring  on  the  Pines, 
and  let  them  have  all  they  want  of  it. 

But  by  the  time  we  got  round  to  this 
job,  as  the  farmers  say,  the  season  for 
spring  planting  of  Pines  was  over,  and  an 
exceptionally  dry  and  burning  summer  was 
in  full  blast,  and  the  very  grass  on  the  hill 
18 


Planting  Willows  and  Pines 

was  crisped  and  dry.  Our  impatience, 
however,  was  too  great  to  permit  us  to 
wait  for  another  year  to  begin  our  experi- 
ment. We  had  read  some  accounts  of 
August  planting  of  Pines,  and  determined 
to  have  our  little  fling  on  the  spot,  and 
find  out  for  ourselves  whether  it  was  a 
good  time  or  not. 

So  we  waited,  as  anxiously  as  the  pro- 
phet  Elijah,  for  the  first  sign  of  rain,  and  fc 
when  at  last  the  brassy  heavens  veiled 
themselves  in  cloud  about  the  middle  of 
August,  we  started  off  after  trees  —  not 
the  pampered  darlings  of  a  nursery,  used 
to  water  and  rich  soil,  but  the  hardy  road- 
side denizens  of  dry  pastures  and  sand- 
hills. We  picked  out  the  driest  and  sandi- 
est spots  to  dig  them  from,  so  that  if  their 
roots  discovered  nothing  to  feed  upon  in 
their  new  locality,  they  would,  from  long 
habit,  have  got  used  to  short  commons,  and 
could  adapt  themselves  to  the  situation. 

Before  going  out  we  had  the  men  dig 
holes  over  the  surface  of  the  side  hill  with 
a  grub-hoe,  banking  up  the  thin  soil  at  the 
lower  side  of  the  holes  with  sods,  so  as  to 
make  little  dams  to  retain  the  water ;  in 
19 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

these  holes  we  set  the  trees  we  selected, 
which  were  not  over  three  feet  high,  but 
stocky  and  well  rooted.  When  possible 
we  punt  we  took  up  the  dirt  with  them,  keeping 
their  roots  moist,  and  well  shaded  in  the 
cart,  and  no  more  were  brought  at  a  time 
than  could  be  set  in  two  or  three  hours. 
After  they  were  all  planted,  with  great 
labor  and  trouble,  we  gave  our  nursery 
a  thorough  watering,  and  then,  except 
on  two  or  three  subsequent  occasions, 
when  things  looked  really  desperate  from 
drought,  they  were  left  to  take  their 
chance.  Luckily  that  year  the  rains  be- 
gan to  fall  soon  after  they  were  set,  and 
the  autumn  was  a  very  wet  one,  so  that  a 
good  many  of  the  little  trees  were  living 
in  the  spring ;  but  another  batch,  set  in 
the  latter  part  of  May  the  following  year, 
owing  possibly  to  the  very  heavy  rains  of 
1888  and  1889,  did  so  much  better,  that 
we  shall  always  be  disposed  to  give  the 
preference  to  spring  planting  in  the  fu- 
ture. 

Of  some  one  hundred  and  fifty  Pines  set 
upon  this  barren  northerly  hillside,  under 
these  cruel  conditions,  about  eighty  sur- 
20 


Planting  Willows  and  Pines 

vive,  a  few  of  which  are  still  leading  a  pre- 
carious existence,  while  the  greater  part 
are  flourishing  bravely,  making  a  fine  show 
in  winter  against  the  snow.  In  summer 
they  shade  so  completely  into  the  unkempt 
green  background  of  the  hill  that,  unless 
seen  in  profile,  they  are  barely  visible,  even 
when  five  feet  high,  and  very  bushy.  Still 
farther  back  we  have  tried  setting  out  very  ing. 
small  Pines,  and  have  sown  the  ground  in 
autumn  with  countless  Pine-seeds,  and 
nuts  of  all  sorts,  which  come  up  satisfao 
torily  enough,  and  do  bravely  for  a  month 
or  two,  but  suffer  dreadfully  in  July  and 
August.  They  are  a  fruitful  source  of 
anxiety  and  disappointment,  because  they 
cannot  make  up  their  minds  whether  to  live 
or  die.  The  young  Oaks  are  especially 
trying  in  this  respect,  for  when  we  have 
fairly  given  them  up  for  lost,  they  thrust 
out  a  feeble  little  leaf  and  make  a  fresh 
effort  at  existence,  but  at  this  rate  a  mil- 
lennium will  be  too  short  for  them  to  get 
their  growth  in.  I  have  read  somewhere 
that  an  Oak  grew  from  an  acorn  in  this 
commonwealth  of  Massachusetts,  forty 
feet  in  fourteen  years,  but  if  these  hillside 

21 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

acorns  achieve  fourteen  feet  in  forty  years 
we  shall  feel  we  have  not  lived  in  vain. 
HOW  to  make  "What  do  you  do  to  make  trees  grow  ? " 
I  asked  an  Englishman  who  was  coaxing 
along  a  rebellious  Butternut  to  some  show 
of  vigor. 

"  Oh  ! "  said  he,  "  I  just  talks  to  'em, 
and  tells  'em  to  grow,  and  they  grow." 

Mindful  of  this  advice,  I  do  not  fail  to 
exhort  these  recreant  acorns,  but  no 
teacher  of  a  primary  school  ever  had  a 
worse  time  in  getting  a  shoot  out  of  a 
young  idea,  than  do  I  out  of.  this  infant 
class  of  refractory  nuts  and  seeds. 

22 


Ill 

A  BABY  FORES1 


The  seed  has  started,  who  can  stay  it  ?    See, 
The  leaves  are  sprouting  high  above  the  ground. 
Already  o'er  the  flowers  its  head ;  the  tree 
That  rose  beside  it,  and  that  on  it  frowned, 
Behold  !  is  but  a  small  bush  by  its  side. 
Still  on  !  it  cannot  stop ;  its  branches  spread  ; 
It  looks  o'er  all  the  earth  in  giant  pride. 

JONES  VERY. 


Ill 


know  that  mothers  love  best  T**  **i<n>€- 

....  .  .  .  ltne$s  of  the 

those  children  who  give  them  km.   ' 


the  most  trouble,  and  it  must  be 
on  some  such  principle  that  this 
barren  hillside  of  ours  wins  our  best  af- 
fections ;  for,  as  we  cultivate  its  seemingly 
thankless  surface,  while  it  disappoints  and 
resists  our  loving  efforts,  all  the  more 
there  grows  in  us  a  tender  comprehension 
of  its  hidden  beauty,  a  wider  sense  of  its 
possibilities,  and  a  greater  patience  with 
the  slow  processes  by  which  it  is  to  be 
restored  to  vigor  and  productiveness. 

We  sympathize  with  its  struggle  for  self- 
adornment,  poor,  barren,  ugly  thing.  The 
cold  northern  slope  comes  slowly  to  life, 
turned  away  as  it  lies  from  the  fostering 
sunlight.  When  the  plain  and  swale  are 
bright  with  the  hues  of  spring,  the  uncut 
grass  upon  its  side  is  still  brown  and  with- 
ered ;  it  seems  to  dread  awakening  from 
25 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

its  winter  sleep,  but  at  last  it  begins  to 
star  itself  over  with  blossoms  of  white 
Saxifrage,  and  anon  it  grows  purple  \vith 
Bird's-foot  Violets,  sending  out  in  the  sun- 
shine that  soft,  fleeting  perfume  which  is 
a  hint  of  the  riper  fragrance  of  their  Eng- 
lish cousins. 

At  this  season,  too,  the  exquisite  wild 
Columbine  decks  it  with  earrings  of  coral 
and  gold,  which  the  country  children  call 
meeting-houses  from  their  steeple-shaped 
horns,  and  over  it  the  all-pervading  Daisy 
waves  its  white  and  yellow  blossoms  stur- 
dily in  the  wind,  while  the  wild  briers  put 
forth  their  roses,  and  the  Dog's-bane  its 
fragrant  cymes,  till  the  Goldenrods  and 
Asters  come  at  last  to  hide  its  barrenness 
with  their  royal  splendor.  And  all  the 
while  there  are  short,  thin  grasses,  of  ten- 
der greens  and  browns,  clothing  it  humbly, 
while  spots  of  vivid  emerald  moss  indicate 
the  presence  of  hidden  rivulets  that  feed 
a  living  spring  that  lies  at  its  foot. 

In   this  spring  is   the  possibility  of  a 

water  garden,  of  which  there  is  already  a 

beginning.     All  summer  long  you  can  see 

shining  there  the  blue  eyes  of  great  For- 

26 


A  Baby  Forest 


get-me-nots,  the  seeds  of  whose  forefathers  Forg*t-m 
were  brought,  long  ago,  from  stately  Fon-  ^-a^T* 
tainebleau  by  a  gentle  artist,  who  planted 
them  by  his  own  brookside,  whence  they 
have  overrun  and  made  famous  the  Hing- 
ham  Meadows,  their  bright  blossoms,  like 
scattered  fragments  of  the  sky,  gleaming 
among  the  rushes,  and  affording  a  valu- 
able industry  to  the  small  boys  who  sell 
them  at  the  railway  station  as  you  pass. 
In  addition  to  these  continuously  bloom- 
ing flowers,  there  are  Pussy  Willows  and 
white  Violets  in  the  spring,  and  in  the  late 
summer  the  Arrowhead  lifts  its  sculptur- 
esque blossom  and  fine  outlined  leaf  from 
the  water,  and  the  Cardinal-flower  uprears 
its  scarlet  spikes  amid  the  blossoms  of 
stately  grasses.  Some  day  we  hope  to  see 
a  Pond  Lily  asleep  upon  its  surface,  and 
if  the  Lotus-flower  would  but  brook  our 
rigorous  winters,  we  should  add  one  to  the 
collection. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  at  each  end,  is  a  stray  i* 
clump  of  White  Birches,   ladies  of    the  ***' 
woods  that  have  strayed  from  their  home, 
and  lost  themselves  on   this  waste,  and 
rustle  their  thin  leaves  timorously,  bend- 
27 


TJ:e  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

ing  their  slender  white  stems  as  the  sea- 
blasts  strike  them.  Now  that  we  have 
stopped  mowing  and  pasturing,  we  find 
clumps  of  Bayberry  and  Chokecherry 
bushes  coming  up  under  the  tumble-down 
old  rail-fences  between  us  and  our  neigh- 
bors, so  that  these  last  are  already  high 
enough  to  shade  the  boys  when,  tired  and 
hot  with  play,  they  throw  themselves  upon 
the  ground  under  their  grateful  protection. 
A  tennis  por  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  there  is  level 

court  on  tnt 

*M-  space  enough,  inside  our  line,  for  a  tennis- 

court,  from  which  you  can  look  for  a  mile 
across  the  meadow  to  the  tree-clad  hills 
beyond,  and  the  clustered  houses  and 
masts  of  the  harbor,  half-buried  in  trees, 
and  seek  for  the  blue  line  upon  the  high 
horizon  that  indicates  the  sea. 

Straggling  paths,  worn  by  careless  feet, 
lead  up  the  hillside  in  those  pleasant, 
meandering  ways  that  indicate  the  foot  of 
man,  and,  in  imagination,  we  see  them 
shaded  by  the  Birches  and  Pines  that  we 
have  hopefully  planted  along  the  borders  ; 
for,  in  moving  our  trees  with  the  surround- 
ing sod,  we  usually  brought  along  these 
close  companions ;  the  Pines  and  Birches 
28 


A  Baby  Forest 


being  so  married,  in  most  instances,  that 
it  seemed  a  cruelty  to  separate  them. 

Hope  and  faith  are  qualities  that  find 
splendid  exercise  in  tree-planting,  and  no 
pursuit  can  be  more  unselfish  ;  for,  as  we 
watch  the  tardy  growth  of  our  plantations, 
it  is  with  the  stern  conviction  that  other 
eyes  than  ours  will  see  the  waving  of  tree- 
tops  above  them,  and  that  far  younger  feet 
will  tread  the  fragrant  woodland  ways 
when  they  are  at  last  carpeted  with  Pine- 
needles.  It  is  by  this  spirit  that  we  be- 
come one  with  Nature,  sharing  humbly  in  The 

,  .       i  T  i  of  Nature, 

her  patience,  in  her  vast  unending  plans, 
in  her  bountiful  provision  for  the  future. 
What  better  boon  to  the  race  can  a  man 
leave  than  a  wood  that  he  has  planted,  in 
which  a  future  generation  may  walk  and 
bless  his  name  ?  Or,  if  the  name  be  for- 
gotten, there  shall  abide  the  forest-bless- 
ing, ever  beneficent,  the  mother  of  springs 
that  fertilize  the  plain,  a  shelter  to  the 
weary,  a  delight  of  the  eye,  a  source  alike 
of  profit  and  pleasure  while  it  endures. 

We  have  friends  who  scoff  when  we 
take  them  to  walk  in  our  forest  and  beg 
them  not  to  step  on  the  Oaks  ;  but,  to  us, 

29 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

these  tiny  seedlings,  so  feeble  and  unim- 
portant, are  personalities  that  we  have 
cherished  through  successive  seasons, 
feeding  them  when  hungry,  giving  drink 
The  suffer-  when  dry,  grieving  when  their  tender 
leaves,  scorched  by  too  fierce  a  sun,  with- 
ered and  fell,  and  rejoicing  when,  under 
the  cool  rains  of  September,  their  little 
bare  stems  put  forth  fresh  crowns  of  leaf- 
buds.  Much  comfort  can  be  taken  in  the 
fact  that  an  Oak  once  rooted  will  not 
wholly  perish,  but  some  day  conquer  even 
the  most  obdurate  of  soils.  Like  good 
seed  sown  in  the  heart  of  a  child,  the 
storms  and  sunshine  of  the  world  may 
seem  for  a  time  to  wither  the  plant  to  the 
ground,  but  in  the  end  the  beauty  and 
power  of  deep-rooted  character  will  pre- 
vail and  bear  fruit. 

We  have  in  our  experiments  endeavored 
to  make  use  of  such  materials  as  lay  at 
hand,  though  well  aware  that  nurseries  and 
gardens  could  have  helped  us  on  our  way 
more  rapidly.  But  trees,  if  purchased, 
are  expensive  luxuries,  and  our  object  has 
been  partly  to  see  what  can  be  done  with- 
out much  money,  and  with  only  a  moder- 
30 


A  Baby  Forest 


ate  amount  of  labor.     Our  experience  has  Transplant* 

ing  more 

shown  us,  what  the  books  on  forestry  told  satisfactory 

,      than  sowing. 

us  in  the  beginning,  that  sowing  seeds 
and  nuts  is  far  less  satisfactory  than  trans- 
planting small  trees ;  but  we  have  had  the 
entertainment  of  proving  their  statements 
for  ourselves,  and  find  our  compensation  in 
such  trifling  results  as  we  have  achieved. 
The  Pine  seeds,  which  we  shook  from  the 
cones  in  the  autumn,  and  planted  before 
they  had  time  to  dry,  came  up  profusely 
enough  in  little  clusters,  but  so  tiny  and 
weak,  that  it  is  wonderful  that  they  are 
ever  discovered  even  in  the  thin  grass  of 
the  hillside,  which  we  leave  near  them  to 
afford  shade.  They  make,  under  these 
conditions,  a  sturdy  little  growth  so  long 
as  the  weather  is  cool  and  moist,  but  are 
apt  to  disappear  altogether  in  the  month 
of  July.  Any  small  tree,  that  one  can 
pull  up  by  a  wayside,  will  make  better  re- 
turns for  a  little  attention  than  these  slow- 
growing  mites  from  seeds. 

Such  White  Birch  seed  as  we  have  sown, 
either  because  we  did  not  know  when  to 
gather  it,  or  whether  it  came  from  the 
wrong  tree,  has  failed  to  come  up  at  all ; 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

but  in  the  sandiest  and  most  uncomfort- 
able part  of  the  hill  we  find  little  seed- 
lings that  have  come  up  of  themselves 
from  the  trees  at  the  foot,  so  that  we  are 
fain  to  confess  that  Nature  understands 
her  business  better  than  we  do. 

^e  verv  sma^  Pines,  a  few  inches  high, 
of  which  we  have  set  a  large  number  on 
the  rear  of  the  hill,  do  not  grow  as  well  as 
the  larger  ones,  and  are  more  apt  to  die. 
So  far  our  experience  leads  us  to  prefer 
good-sized  trees  of  all  kinds  for  transplant- 
ing, rather  than  small  ones,  the  larger  tree 
seeming  to  have  more  vitality  to  come  and 
go  upon  until  new  roots  are  formed,  and 
it  has  become  adapted  to  its  new  condi- 
tions. 

We  have  planted  various  kinds  of  acorns 
in  great  profusion,  but  the  Mossy-cup  and 
the  Chestnut  Oak  seem  to  thrive  best  in 
this  waterless  soil.  The  White  and  Red 
Oaks  seem  to  require  enriching  to  hold 
their  own  at  all,  and  Maple  seedlings, 
which  come  up  promptly,  yield  to  the  first 
drought,  though  very  small  transplanted 
trees  live  on.  Hickories,  though  slow  in 
growth,  are  not  vanquished  by  the  con- 
32 


A  Baby  Forest 


ditions,  and  little  yearling  Chestnuts,  trans- 
planted and  dug  about,  flourish  bravely. 

From  a  friend  in  town,  whose  English  Planting 
Walnut-tree  has  borne  profusely  after  the 
recent  warm  winters,  we  have  obtained 
fresh  nuts,  which,  promptly  set,  have  ger- 
minated and  given  us  fine  little  shoots  in 
one  season.  This  tree  is  a  more  rapid 
grower  than  any  of  our  native  nut-trees, 
and  so  far  has  stood  the  winters,  but  we 
have  had  no  weather  below  zero  here 
since  1887,  and  cannot  answer  for  the  ef- 
fect of  an  old-fashioned  season.  The  field- 
mice  have  a  great  predilection  for  them, 
and  gnawed  our  largest  one  down  to  the 
root  a  year  ago,  but  it  came  up  again  in 
the  spring  with  redoubled  vigor,  and  made 
up  for  lost  time. 

Small  Black  Birches,  dug  up  by  the  Results. 
roadside,  and  put  into  holes  prepared  for 
them  in  the  side  of  the  hill,  have  thriven 
without  much  attention,  and  make  a  fa- 
vorable growth ;  but  some  Ailanthus-trees 
from  a  nursery,  in  spite  of  Horace  Gree- 
ley,  have  refused  to  do  anything  at  all.  In 
the  swale  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  where  the 
soil  is  deep  and  moist,  all  trees  flourish. 
33 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

English  Oaks  grow  rapidly  from  acorns, 
and  we  have  a  fine  group  of  Chestnuts, 
transplanted  when  fifteen  feet  high,  that 
grow  well  after  being  cut  back  sternly 
when  set.  Though  much  beset  by  insects, 
they  are  now  firmly  established,  having 
been  planted  in  the  autumn  of  1888.  In 
this  same  moist,  rich  soil  we  have  also  had 
very  good  success  with  that  difficult  tree 
to  move,  the  Hemlock ;  and  the  Tulip-tree 
and  the  Mulberry  also  flourish,  though 
the  tender  young  branches  of  the  latter 
suffered  after  the  last  two  warm  winters, 
dying  back  badly. 
climbing  To  get  all  this  young  family  started, 
as  may  be  imagined,  took  a  great  deal  of 
time,  and  much  subsequent  attention,  one 
favorable  result  of  which  is  that  from  con- 
stant clambering  up  the  steep  hill,  which 
was  at  first  a  breathless  piece  of  business, 
our  lungs  have  developed  co  such  a  de- 
gree that  we  are  disposed  to  recommend 
the  cultivation  of  a  forest  on  a  slope  to  all 
such  as,  like  Hamlet,  are  "  fat  and  scant 
of  breath,"  for  the  fine  stimulus  it  proves 
to  the  action  of  the  heart. 


34 


IV 

CLEARING   UP 


The  dense  hard  passage  is  blind  and  stifled, 
That  crawls  by  a  track  none  turn  to  climb 
To  the  strait  waste  place  that  the  years  have 

rifled 
Of  all  but  the  thorns  that  are  touched  not  of 

Time; 
The  thorns  he  spares  when  the  rose  is  taken  ; 

The  rocks  are  left  when  he  wastes  the  plain  ; 
The  wind  that  wanders,  the  weeds  wind-shaken, 
These  remain. 

SWINBURNE. 


IV 


"  trees  will  grow  while  one 
sleeps,"  according  to  the  old 
adage,  we  made  planting  our 
first  business,  and  left  setting 
the  place  in  order  to  come  later,  for 
it  seemed  to  promise  an  indefinite  job, 
everything  having  gone  more  or  less  to 
rack  and  ruin  during  its  period  of  aban- 
donment and  desolation. 

The   forlornness   of   an   old,  neglected  A  forlorn 
farm  is  largely  owing  to  the  condition  of  * 
its  trees  and  shrubs,  which,  being  left  to 
themselves,  take  on  a  tumble-down,  half- 
dead  look  that  often  belies  their  real  con- 
dition.    A  few  decayed  trees  bring  all  the 
others  into  disrepute,  like  a  grog-shop  in 
an   otherwise    respectable   neighborhood, 
and  untrimmed  shrubs  are  as  unbecoming 
as  unkempt  hair. 

When  we  came  to  examine  matters  at 
Overlea,  as  we  named  our  acquisition,  from 
37 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

its  command  of  the  meadow,  we  found 
that  a  good  sweeping  and  dusting  would 
do  wonders  for  it,  and  with  that  enthusi- 
asm for  setting  to  rights  inborn  in  the 
New  England  breast,  we  prepared  for  a 
grand  redding  up. 

While  the  grading  of  the  knoll  was  go- 
ing on  preparatory  to  building  the  house, 
our  factotum,  appropriately  named  Blos- 
som, since  his  function  was  to  adorn  the 
place,  was  busily  employed  in  removing 
all  the  unsightly  dead  limbs  from  among 
the  live  ones,  and  in  hewing  down  such 
old  Pear  and  Apple  trunks  as  proved 
hopeless. 

^^e  ^°£s  anc*  branches  were  dragged 
away  to  the  wettest  place  in  the  meadow 
at  the  back  of  the  knoll,  and  transformed 
into  a  corduroy  road,  by  which  one  could 
pass  dry-shod  out  into  the  rear  street. 
This  floating  rubbish,  supported  by  the 
tangled  grass  on  the  marsh,  formed  a 
foundation  upon  which,  after  inserting  a 
plank  water-way  at  the  bottom,  for  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide,  we  subsequently 
built  a  substantial  carriage-road  of  stones 


Clearing  Up 


and  gravel,  which  now  affords  a  back  en- 
trance to  the  stable  and  kitchens. 

The  palings  of  the  fence  were  removed 
for  kindlings,  but  the  posts  and  rails  were 
left  to  form  a  slight  boundary  until  the 
hedges  and  tree  rows  should  be  fairly 
established ;  the  straggling  shrubs  were 
trimmed  into  better  shape,  the  Box-arbor 
clipped  and  cleared  of  weeds,  trailing 
vines  were  taught  once  more  the  use  of 
a  trellis,  and  the  grass  was  mown  and 
raked  clean  of  the  last  year's  rowan. 

Fierce  war  was  made  upon  the  Bur- 
dock  and  Mint  and  Horse-radish  that  had 
squatted  everywhere  on  the  land ;  load 
after  load  of  the  accumulated  rubbish  of 
years  was  buried  under  the  corduroy  road, 
and  hidden  from  view  with  gravel  ;  the 
Pear-trees  were  carefully  pruned  and  tied 
up,  and  the  old  Grape  trellis  stiffened  with 
new  posts  and  lattices. 

When  all  this  was  done,  and  it  was  no 
brief  job,  the  place  took  on  a  civilized  air 
truly  surprising,  but,  like  the  boy's  wash- 
ing his  face,  which  cost  his  father  a  thou- 
sand dollars,  the  felling  of  the  first  ragged 
39 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

old  tree  was   an  entering  wedge  of  im- 
provements that  found  no  end. 

The  clearing  up  revealed  unsuspected 
beauties  and  possibilities  in  the  old  place, 
and  at  the  end  of  it  we  had  taken  an  ac- 
count of  stock,  and  were  aware  that  we 
had  become  owners  of  a  treasure-house  of 
enjoyments.  But  the  charms  and  wealth 
of  that  old  garden  are  "  another  story," 
which  remains  to  be  told  later. 
Grading  the  While  all  this  spring  and  fall  cleaning 
was  going  on,  the  heavy  labor  of  grading 
was  in  progress.  Teams  and  men  were 
coming  and  going,  heavy  scrapers  were 
plowing  part  of  the  little  knoll  down  into 
the  valley,  and  loads  of  gravel  were  being 
dumped  to  bring  the  slopes  into  proper 
form,  the  surface  soil  having  been  first 
removed  to  cover  the  future  lawn.  Week 
by  week  the  work  went  on,  till  the  very 
landscape  changed  its  contours,  as  the  re- 
moval of  the  crown  of  the  knoll  threw 
open  to  view,  from  the  sidewalk,  the  fine 
stretch  of  green  meadow  and  blue  stream, 
once  hidden  from  view  by  its  cone. 

When  our  much  interested  critics  found 
that  we  had  chosen  the  site  for  our  dwell- 
40 


Clearing  Up 


ing  in  an  unexpected  part  of  the  grounds, 
their  murmurs  again  reached  our  ears. 
"Why   in   the   world  don't   the  doctor 

r      ,       ,  . , ,        .  i  our  critics. 

build  up  on  top  of  the  hill,  where  he  can 
see  everything,  and  be  among  neighbors  ?" 
sang  half  the  chorus. 

"  If  I  had  a  lot  of  big  trees  like  those 
Elums  I  M  get  the  good  of  'em,  and  put 
my  new  house  on  the  old  cellar,"  echoed 
the  antiphonal. 

"  Never  can  make  anything  better  'n  a 
Shumack-bush  grow  in  that  gravel-pit," 
shouted  they  all  together. 

"  Well,  perhaps  he  knows  what  he 's 
about,"  would  interpose  some  friendly 
voice  ;  "  but  it  would  n't  be  my  way,  any- 
how. He  '11  find  out,  come  to  plantin', 
that  he  's  got  to  have  soil,  even  for  a  door- 
yard." 

When  it  came  to  building  the  founda-  we  are  like 
tions,   their   distance    from   the   highway 
seemed  inordinate  to  most  of  these  critics,  Ass' 
but  now  and  then  we  were  reproached  by 
the  more  ambitious  for  not  leaving  front 
enough.     In  fine,  we  came  to  be  in  full 
sympathy  with  the  Old  Man  and  His  Ass 
of  the  fable  ;  but  being  luckier  than  he  in 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

having  a  mind  of  our  own,  we  did  not  end 
by  pitching  house  and  all  into  the  water, 
as  we  might  have  been  tempted  to  do 
from  the  multitude  of  counselors,  in  which, 
in  spite  of  Solomon,  there  is  not  always 
wisdom. 

Our  firm  conviction  was  that  the  hill, 
in  spite  of  the  commanding  view  toward 
the  north,  was  too  bleak  and  exposed  a 
position  to  be  pleasant  for  an  all-the- 
year-round  home ;  it  was  also  too  near 
the  neighbors'  lines,  and  too  remote  from 
orchard  and  garden. 

On   the  other  hand,  tempting  as   the 
u».  great  Elms  certainly  were  on  a  hot  sum- 

mer day,  the  lot  at  that  end  of  the  farm 
was  quite  too  narrow  for  a  house  and 
stable  such  as  we  required.  The  knoll, 
though  limited  in  area,  gave  us  plenty  of 
elbow-room,  and  from  its  elevation  we  over- 
looked the  grassy  swale  on  one  side,  with 
the  hill  for  a  background,  and  northward 
could  view  the  ever-changing  tints  of  the 
meadow,  behind  the  gardens  and  the  fruit- 
trees.  Experience  has  confirmed  the 
dom  of  our  choice,  and,  in  justice  to  our 
advisers,  I  will  say  that  they  now  hand- 
4* 


Gearing  Up 


somely  admit  that,  though  they  "  did  n't 
think  much  of  the  doctor's  ch'ice,  to  begin 
with,"  they  are  now  convinced  that  "  he 
has  got  about  the  likeliest  lot  on  the 
street." 

People  question  us  about  our  Willows, 
and  ask  whether  we  are  to  make  a  hedge  of 
them  or  allow  them  to  grow  up  into  trees. 
"If  you  allow  the  Willow-trees  to  grow 
up,"  they  ask,  "won't  they  shut  off  all 
your  view?  and  if  you  don't  allow  them 
to,  won't  the  labor  and  trouble  of  cutting 
them  back  every  year  be  serious  ?  " 

We  do  mean  to  let  them  grow  into  trees 
at  their  own  sweet  will,  at  least  for  the 
present.  The  knoll  is  so  high,  and  the 
slope  of  the  ground,  from  the  foot  of  it  to 
the  edge  of  the  place,  so  decided,  that  our 
veranda  -  floor  is  some  twenty -five  feet 
above  the  level  where  the  Willows  are  set, 
so  that  they  can  grow  for  some  years  to 
come  without  becoming  an  annoyance. 
They  are  also  quite  a  long  distance  away, 
as  the  line  runs  diagonally  between  us  and 
the  meadow.  Should  they  ever  become 
a  serious  obstruction,  polling  once  in  five 
years,  we  think,  will  keep  them  where  we 
43 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

want  them,  as  from  our  elevation  we  can 
look  directly  over  the  top  of  a  very  tall  old 
Apple-tree  which  stands  at  the  foot  of  the 
slope  near  the  house,  and  a  Willow  in  the 
distance  will  have  to  be  quite  a  tree  to  be 
really  troublesome.  A  vista  cut  here  and 
there  in  the  line  will  really  enhance  the 
charm  of  the  prospect,  but  at  present  they 
are  not  more  than  fifteen  feet  high. 

Another  inquiry  has  been  made  with 
regard  to  the  preparation  of  the  soil  on 
the  hill  for  the  Pines. 

The  pa-  Unfortunately,  we  did   nothing  in   the 

Krl^f'our  way  of  making  a  bed  for  them  beyond  the 
process  I  have  described.  No  doubt, 
they  would  have  fared  much  better  for  a 
little  feeding,  and  more  of  them  would 
have  lived,  but  the  hill  was  very  steep  and 
hard  to  get  at,  even  with  a  wheelbarrow ; 
and,  besides,  we  had  no  soil  to  spare,  for 
we  needed  everything  we  could  get  for 
the  lawn,  and  did  not  care  to  buy  any  for 
so  doubtful  an  enterprise.  We  therefore 
tried  our  experiment  under  the  sternest 
conditions.  However,  those  tiny  Pilgrim 
Fathers  of  the  future  forest  stood  the  trial 
like  little  men.  Some  of  them,  it  is  true, 
44 


Clearing  Up 


died  of  consumption,  and  some  of  fever ; 
but  the  survivors  are  growing  tall  and 
stout  on  their  poor  pickings,  and  will  do 
us  credit  yet. 

There  is  one  of  them,  nicknamed  Epis-  The  history 
copus,  from  its  birthplace  in  the  church 
lot,  which  is  a  beautiful  illustration  of 
that  fable  called  Nature  and  Education, 
in  "  Evenings  at  Home,"  a  book  which 
was  the  delight  of  the  childhood  of  a  pre- 
vious generation,  and  an  infinite  bore  to 
the  present  advanced  infant. 

I  spied  the  poor  thing  one  day  hanging 
by  one  root  to  the  side  of  a  sandhill,  which 
was  being  graded  to  a  smooth  slope,  and 
asked  the  men  who  were  working  there  to 
let  me  have  it.  Though  much  ridiculed 
for  its  shapeless  and  unpromising  aspect, 
it  was  given  a  comfortable  shelf  pretty 
well  down  on  the  slope,  and  coaxed  to 
hold  its  head  up  by  various  devices.  Un- 
used to  kind  treatment,  this  wayside  waif, 
which  had  got  used  to  growing  nearly  up- 
side down,  hung  its  head  and  sidled  up 
against  the  hill,  and  seemed  to  find  its 
branches  as  much  in  its  way  as  the  legs 
and  arms  of  a  guttersnipe  in  a  parlor ;  but 
45 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

time  and  training,  and  the  neighborhood 
of  Boston  have  their  influence  even  on  a 
Pine,  and  that  clerical  tree  is  now  a  very 
Bishop  in  erectness  and  dignity,  having 
been  lopped  and  pruned  and  tied  to  stakes, 
till  it  puts  the  most  symmetrical  of  the 
other  Pines  to  shame  by  the  vigor  of  its 
development,  proving  that  if  anything  can 
"  beat  Nature  "  it  is  Education. 

The  consolation  of  having  a  limited 
number  of  trees  is  that  each  one  acquires 
an  individuality,  and  their  owner  gets  to 
know  them  as  a  shepherd  does  his  flock. 
I  wish  every  one  could  learn  the  way  in 
which  these  little  growing  things  take  hold 
of  one's  interest,  and  people  life  in  the 
country,  and  that  this  pursuit  could  be 
taught  to  children  as  a  branch  of  their 
education. 

The  plant-         It  is  the  custom  in  some  of  our  high- 
Ty schools*    schools  for  the  graduating  class  to  plant  a 

and  colleges.    ^^     ^     ^    neighborhood    Qf    the    Sch00l- 

house  and  for  a  long  period  it  has  been 
the  time-honored  custom  of  universities 
to  set  out  a  vine  in  commencement  week, 
to  commemorate  the  class  that  is  leaving 
college. 


Clearing  Up 


During  a  visit  last  summer  to  an  east- 
ern town,  my  attention  was  called  to  the 
Ampelopsis,  each  vine  labeled  with  the 
date  of  the  class  cut  in  one  of  the  stones 
of  the  foundation  of  the  college  chapel, 
near  which  the  plants  were  set,  and  it  was 
melancholy  to  see  how  forlorn  and  small 
many  of  them  were,  and  how  others  had 
died  completely  for  lack  of  attention.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  numbers  of  the  pitiful 
little  Maples  and  Elms  that  huddle  around 
the  unpicturesque  and  bare  high-school 
buildings  in  some  parts  of  New  England, 
which  really  should  by  this  time  be  amply 
shaded  if  a  proper  attention  had  been  paid 
to  the  young  trees  when  set  out. 

It  strikes  me  that  a  radical  change  A 
should  be  made  in  the  time  of  planting 
these  commemorative  trees  and  vines. 
Instead  of  setting  them  out  at  the  close 
of  its  career,  every  class  should  on  enter- 
ing the  school  or  university  erect  its 
growing  monument,  and  devote  its  best 
energies  during  the  four  years  of  school 
or  college  life  to  having  its  vine  or  its  tree 
beat  the  record  in  growth  and  vigor.  In 
this  way,  if  one  specimen  died  another 
47 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

could  be  planted,  that  the  class  might  be 
sure  of  a  memorial,  while  yearly  a  com- 
mittee should  be  appointed  to  attend  to 
the  plant,  and  a  small  subscription  be 
levied  on  each  member  of  the  class  for 
proper  fertilizers  and  cultivation. 

If  the  personal  attention  of  the  boys 
could  be  given  to  the  subject,  if  they 
would  themselves  dig  about  and  enrich 
and  prune  what  they  had  planted,  and 
would  take  pride  in  it,  the  effect  would 
be  good  in  awakening  in  their  minds  an 
interest  in  the  growth  of  plants  and  trees  ; 
and  some  slight  knowledge  might  be  ac- 
quired of  climatic  and  soil  conditions, 
while  a  hint  might  be  given  to  them  of 
one  of  the  best  and  purest  pleasures 
which  is  within  the  grasp  of  man. 

In  this  way  could  be  instilled  into  the 
rising  generation  an  interest  in  forestry, 
that  might  in  time  bear  fruit  in  greater 
care  for  this  property  of  the  nation. 
Among  the  books  of  reference  in  schools 
some  should  be  supplied  which  treat  of 
the  proper  management  of  growing  things, 
so  that  the  youths  and  maidens  could 
study  the  subject  for  themselves.  If,  at 
48 


Clearing  Up 


the  end  of  each  year  or  four  years,  some 
slight  reward,  such  as  a  simple  medal  or 
even  an  honorable  mention,  could  be 
awarded  to  that  plant  or  tree  which  had 
made  any  surprising  growth,  it  might  still 
further  stimulate  an  interest  among  the 
young  people  in  this  most  beautiful  and 
useful  work.  If  masters  of  schools  and 
professors  of  colleges  would  use  their  in- 
fluence to  bring  about  this  change  as 
speedily  as  possible,  it  could  not  fail  to 
do  good  to  the  youths  themselves,  and 
would  replace  with  vigorous  trees  and 
vines  the  usually  melancholy  specimens 
which  many  classes  now  leave  behind 
them  as  their  monument. 

The  forester  of  ever  so  minute  a  wood 
has  a  fund  of  enjoyment  on  his  plantation 
that  no  unlimited  order  to  the  best  of 
landscape  gardeners  can  ever  give  him.  It 
is  a  fine  spiritual  exercise  to  bring  the  mind 
into  sympathy  with  inferior  organisms, 
and  when  one  has  fairly  learned  to  love 
anything  so  stubborn  and  irresponsive  as 
a  tree,  he  has  gained  a  step  in  mental  de- 
velopment, even  beyond  that  point  won 
49 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

by   a   sympathetic   understanding   of   his 
brother  man. 

A  flower  However  fond  one  may  be  of  a  flower 
garden,  I  doubt  if  it  ever  yields  quite  so 
s.  sturdy  a  satisfaction  as  the  culture  of 
trees.  It  is  the  difference  between  bring- 
ing up  a  girl  and  a  boy,  —  one  all  light, 
color,  sweetness,  a  thing  to  be  cherished 
and  tenderly  sheltered  and  nurtured  ;  the 
other  less  outwardly  winning,  more  obsti- 
nate in  development,  more  independent 
and  manly  in  habit,  but  more  worth  while  ; 
a  thing  of  positive  pecuniary  value  when 
well  grown  ;  and  formed,  when  symmetry 
and  breadth  are  fully  attained,  to  be  of 
service  in  sheltering  the  weak  and  weary 
who  seek  protection  in  what  Mrs.  Gamp 
would  call  "  this  wale." 
5° 


ON  THE  PERVERSITY  OF 
CERTAIN  TREES 


My  wind  has  turned  to  bitter  north, 
That  was  so  soft  a  south  before ; 

My  sky,  that  shone  so  sunny  bright, 
With  foggy  gloom  is  clouded  o'er. 

ARTHUR  HUGH  C  LOUGH. 


conscience  would  lead  me  to  Apology  &* 

to  my  trees. 

make  an  apology  to   my  tree- 


nurslings  for  having  called  them 
stubbbrn  and  irresponsive,  when 
they  have  in  many  instances  given  me  so 
much  satisfaction ;  but  as  I  feel  that  it  is 
necessary  to  be  as  honest  about  mistakes 
as  about  successes,  in  order  to  render  these 
records  truly  valuable,  I  feel  it  my  duty  — 
though  it  is  almost  as  bad  as  betraying  a 
domestic  secret  —  to  admit  that  they  have 
been  a  trial.  And  that  people  may  not 
be  led  away  into  thinking  a  tree  nursery 
any  freer  from  failings  than  a  child  nurs- 
ery, I  must  tell  the  painful  as  well  as  the 
charming  facts  about  them. 

No  one  knows  better  than  I  how  much  Th* freak- 
some  of  the  more  satisfactory  among  them  "Ome"/ 
will  do  for  one  under  kind  treatment,  but,  thtm' 
all  the  same,  I  must  reluctantly  maintain 
that  many  of  them  are  freakish  and  dis- 
53 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

appointing  ;  not,  perhaps,  so  much  from 
their  inherent  wickedness,  as  from  the 
baneful  influences  of  the  world  outside,  the 
flirtations  with  insects  of  which  they  are 
capable,  their  predilection  for  ornament- 
ing themselves  with  bright  colored  fungus 
growths  which  check  their  development, 
a  perverseness  about  living,  even  when 
given  the  very  best  advantages,  only  par- 
alleled by  those  Chinese*  servants  who 
go  and  kill  themselves  if  their  master 
speaks  sharply  to  them ;  and,  above  all,  a 
stubbornness  about  adapting  themselves 
to  new  conditions  as  great  as  that  of  a 
trueborn  Briton. 
A  tree  tkt  Your  tree  is  the  true  conservative,  and 

true  con-  .....  . 

will  insist  upon  its  own  way  quite  as  un- 
reasonably as  a  human  being,  even  when 
you  are  sure  you  know  what  is  better  for 
it  than  it  does  itself.  It  is  as  hard  to 
bring  it  to  a  new  way  of  living  as  it  is  to 
bring  about  a  constitutional  amendment. 
If  there  is  a  spot  where  you  do  not  want 
a  tree  to  grow,  notably  a  garden  bed  or 
your  potato  patch,  there  it  will  insist  on 
coming  up  and  making  itself  at  home  ; 
but,  take  up  this  interloper  and  put  it  in  a 
54 


On  the  Perversity  of  Certain  Trees 

proper  place,  where  you  want  it,  and,  ten 
to  one,  it  will  sulk  and  defy  you. 

One's  favorites  show  in  extreme  youth  but  of  m- 
a  propensity  to  come  in  contact  with  cows'  7£r2%er. 
horns  and  the  jackknives  of  mischievous 
boys,  that  is  another  proof  of  ill-regulated 
character.  They  let  their  top-buds  perish 
in  the  most  careless  way,  and  put  out  two 
leaders  instead  of  one  before  you  know  it ; 
they  grow  unevenly,  they  make  themselves 
untidy  with  absurd  little  leaves  up  and 
down  their  stems,  with  a  vague  idea  of 
keeping  the  sun  off  their  trunks.  One 
has  a  constant  struggle  with  evergreens  to 
keep  their  lower  limbs  in  condition ;  they 
always  prefer  to  go  barefooted.  Indeed, 
I  call  one  Norway  Spruce  I  know  of  Sock- 
less  Jerry,  on  account  of  this  very  failing. 

There  is  a  crying  instance  of  depravity  A  depraved 
in   a   moderate-sized   White  Ash  on  our  wklU  Ash* 
lawn,  which  ought  to  be  a  stately  tree  by 
this  time,  for   a  neighbor  tells  us  it  has 
been  growing  there  for  forty  years.    Every 
spring  it  puts  out  a  magnificent  crop  of 
new    shoots,   and   we    congratulate   our- 
selves that  at  last  it  has  really  made  up 
its  mind  to  go  ahead  and  reward  us  for 
55 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

all  the  digging  around  and  high  feeding 
we  have  given  it ;  but  in  late  June  omi- 
nous yellow  spots  appear  upon  the  leaves, 
great  orange-colored  excrescences  disfig- 
ure the  young  shoots/ and  the  first  thing 
we  know  they  are  all  shriveled  and  dying, 
and  the  ground  underneath  it  is  strewn 
with  blackened  leaves.  Later  it  pulls  it- 
self together  and  gets  out  a  feeble  crop  of 
young  sprouts,  just  enough  to  enable  it  to 
hold  its  own  from  year  to  year,  but  which 
seem  to  add  almost  nothing  to  its  girth, 
and  very  little  to  its  height, 

Now,  can  any  one  tell  me  what  is  the 
proper  punishment  for  that  ? 

Hemlocks  Of  the  perversity  of  Hemlocks  I  could 
verse.  write  a  volume.  I  knew  something  of 
their  waywardness  in  the  State  of  Maine, 
but  even  in  Massachusetts,  where  every- 
thing is  regulated  by  law,  they  show  no 
higher  sense  of  duty. 

In  vain  do  you  coax  along  a  beautiful 
little  tree,  carefully  raised  in  a  nursery 
till  it  has  a  fine  ball  of  roots,  to  live  and 
thrive  for  several  seasons  ;  at  the  end  of 
that  time  you  find  it  in  the  spring  yellow 
and  brown  and  bare,  with  every  sign  of 

56 


On  the  Perversity  of  Certain  Trees 

premature  decay  about  it.  In  a  clump 
they  may  condescend  to  grow,  or  on  a  hill, 
but  if  you  don't  want  a  clump,  or  a  hill  on 
the  lawn,  what  then  ? 

Any  one  who  has  ever  set  his  affections 

of  otftny 

on  a  Peach  orchard  knows  something  of  trees. 
the  shameless  coquetry  of  its  behavior ; 
and  in  the  course  of  these  chapters  I 
shall  be  compelled  to  record  instances  of 
misconduct  even  in  the  most  innocent  and 
carefully  brought  up  trees  as  well  as  in 
the  wild  and  unsophisticated  ones.  Even 
the  common  White  Birch,  which  will  live 
anywhere  and  everywhere,  and  thrive  on 
a  sandbank,  goes  and  gets  itself  eaten  up 
with  rosebugs  the  minute  we  try  to  uti- 
lize it  on  a  lawn.  Lombardy  Poplars,  too, 
in  spite  of  much  specious  promising,  be- 
have shamefully ;  and  I  have  known  a 
Catalpa  to  grow  undaunted  in  an  inclo- 
sure  for  twenty  years  and  then  succumb  in 
a  cowardly  way  to  one  cold  winter.  The 
fact  is,  though  I  am  loath  to  say  it,  as  a 
class  you  cannot  absolutely  depend  upon 
trees,  and  when  you  say  that  —  why,  you 
say  everything  ! 

I  have  also  something  to  add  concern- 
57 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Concerning  ing  our  grove  of  Chestnut-trees,  that  were 
taken  from  a  plantation  of  trees  in  our 
neighborhood,  which  had  been  made  some 
years  ago,  on  one  of  the  neglected  places 
hereabout.  They  had  been  set  out  when 
small,  and  left  to  take  their  chances  with- 
out cultivation  for  certainly  ten  years. 
How  much  they  had  received  when  very 
young  I  cannot  say,  for  their  gardener  has 
long  since  moved  away.  When  we  got 
them  they  were  some  three  inches  in  di- 
ameter one  foot  from  the  ground,  and 
slim  and  stately,  with  fairly  good  roots, 
but  not  like  those  of  frequently  moved 
nursery  trees.  We  topped  them  when 
they  were  set  in  the  autumn,  and  as  they 
did  not  seem  very  vigorous,  the  next  year 
we  cut  them  back  very  severely,  of  differ- 
ent lengths,  as  an  experiment.  Some  of 
them  we  left  ten  feet  high,  and  one  of 
them  which  had  poor  roots  and  looked 
sickly  we  cut  down  to  within  two  feet  of 
the  ground. 

Last  summer  they  all  put  out  vigorous 
tops  with  enormous  leaves,  but  they  are 
much  beset  by  the   aphis,  which  makes 
havoc  with  the  first  growth,  and  later  by 
58 


On  the  Perversity  of  Certain  Trees 

the  insatiable  rosechafer;  yet,  in  spite  of 
these  drawbacks,  they  thrive  in  the  rich 
deep  soil  of  the  swale,  sheltered  by  the 
hill  from  the  sun  and  the  burning  south- 
west winds.  They  are  planted  about  fif- 
teen feet  apart,  as  we  thought  they  would 
do  better  in  close  company,  and  they  can 
be  trimmed  out  when  they  are  larger  if  it 
seems  desirable.  Smaller  ones  are  set  on 
the  hillside,  where  they  seem  to  flourish, 
and  some  future  generation  may  see  our 
hillside,  like  those  noble  slopes  of  the 
Connecticut  valley,  waving  with  their 
splendid  foliage. 

But  all  these  trees  give  us  care  and  information 
trouble,  and  much  disappointment,  like  iat<< 
everything  on  which  one's  heart  is  set, 
and  then  we  are  always  finding  out  things 
just  too  late,  for  we  constantly  discover  in 
our  reading  articles  published  the  day 
after  the  fair,  which  show  us  how  much 
better  we  might  have  done  had  we  had 
the  information  a  year  or  two  earlier.  In 
fact  we  have  reason  to  think  ourselves 
among  those 

Mountainous  minds  that  were  awake  too  soon, 
Or  else  their  brethren  slept  too  late, 

59 


The  Resets  of  an  Old  Place 

for  no  sooner  do  we  evolve  an  idea  and 
put  it  in  practice,  than  at  every  turn  the 
public  press  is  crammed  with  views  on  this 
very  subject  which  it  has  never  seen  fit 
to  express  previously.  Hinc  ilia  lacrima. 
Had  all  that  we  discovered  later  in  print 

would  have     ,  •„!  •  .          t_       t        • 

induced di*-  been  within  our  grasp  in  the  beginning, 
had  modern  ideas  been  fairly  abroad,  how 
much  easier  everything  would  have  been  1 
But,  also,  how  afraid  we  should  have  been 
to  undertake  anything,  having  learned 
thus  that  we  ought  never  to  build  without 
a  landscape  architect,  never  to  plant  with- 
out the  advice  of  an  experienced  land- 
scape gardener,  never  to  suffer  from  mis- 
takes that  could  so  easily  be  avoided  by 
proper  appeals  to  a  professional !  But  all 
this  wisdom  might  as  well  have  come  in 
the  next  century  as  just  a  year  too  late, 
and  so  here  we  are,  with  all  our  blood 
upon  our  heads,  because  we  chanced  to 
dig  our  cellar  and  make  our  contract  a 
year  or  two  before  a  certain  eminent  den- 
drological  journal  was  born. 

As  it  was,  we  went  to  some  scientific 
neighbors,  who  had  done  the  same  thing 
we  were  doing  thirty  years  before  with 
60 


On  tbe  Perversity  of  Certain  Trees 

very  distinguished  success ;  and  some  of 
them  gave  us  advice,  and  others  gave  us 
trees,  which  were  even  more  to  the  pur- 
pose; and  they  kindly  encouraged  our 
efforts,  and  took  an  interest  in  what  we 
were  doing  that  sustained  and  cheered  us 
on  our  way. 

No  one's  experience,  either  in  books  or 
in  real  life,  proves  to  be  exactly  like  our 
own,  so  that  we  feel  that  we  have  had  the 
benefit  of  an  original  experiment.  Only 
time  can  fully  reveal  where  our  mistakes 
lie,  for  it  alone  can  show  whether  we  have 
planted  not  wisely  or  too  well. 
61 


VI 

• 

THE  WRECK  OF  AN  ANCIENT 
GARDEN 


A  brave  old  house !  a  garden  full  of  bees, 
Large  dropping  poppies,  and  queen  holly- 

hocks, 

With  butterflies  for  crowns,  —  tree  peonies, 
And  pinks  and  goldilocks. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


VI 


EXT  to  our  tree  garden  came  A  wonder- 
the  old-fashioned  flower  garden  *' 
as  an  object  of  care  and  inter- 
est in  the  renovation  of  the 
place,  and  here  we  met  with  many  agree- 
able surprises ;  so  that  we  were  perpetu- 
ally reminded  of  the  "  Swiss  Family  Rob- 
inson," who,  when  they  went  ashore  on 
their  desert  island,  found  all  they  needed 
to  make  them  comfortable  on  the  wreck, 
from  which,  luckily,  they  were  able  to 
help  themselves  before  the  old  hulk  went 
to  pieces.  After  that,  every  little  thing 
which  was  quite  indispensable  came  out 
of  a  wonderful  bag  that  belonged  to  the 
worthy  mother. 

Since  we  landed  upon  the  barren  waste 
of  this  abandoned  farm,  we  have  often  had 
reason  to  compare  the  old  house-lot  with 
the  ship,  and  the  front  yard  with  the  moth- 
er's bag,  for  a  number  of  trees  and  shrubs 
65 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

have  been  forthcoming  from  the  one, 
while  the  other  has  proved  an  inexhausti- 
ble resource,  not  only  for  our  own,  but 
other  people's  gardens. 
Mi*  Betty  For,  once  upon  a  time,  in  the  old  house 
which  is  now  no  more,  there  dwelt  two 
dear  old  ladies  who  took  great  pride  in 
their  garden,  and  stocked  it  well  with  all 
the  best  flowers  of  their  day,  and  from  it 
came  bulbs  and  cuttings  of  roses,  and 
roots  of  perennials,  that  still  help  to  make 
beautiful  the  ancient  gardens  of  this  fine 
old  town.  They  were  women  of  refine- 
ment and  learning,  much  respected  and 
beloved,  and  the  older  people  still  warmly 
recall  Miss  Betsy  and  Miss  Peggy,  and 
the  days  when  the  old  house  was  always 
a  sunny  and  cheerful  resort.  After  the 
place  was  abandoned  and  unoccupied  for 
many  years,  people  felt  at  liberty  to  come 
and  help  themselves  to  slips  of  the  shrubs 
and  to  roots  of  the  old  plants,  so  that  one 
might  hardly  hope  to  find  anything  of 
value  still  existing  there ;  but  when  we 
came  to  clear  away  the  rubbish,  we  were 
surprised  to  find  what  a  tenacious  hold 
the  occupants  had  of  the  soil,  so  that,  as 
66 


The  Wreck  of  an  Ancient  Garden 

the  spring  and  summer  months  sped  by, 
we  were  constantly  surprised  and  charmed 
to  find,  in  unexpected  places,  some  shrub 
or  flower  that  clung  to  its  old  haunts,  and, 
half-hidden  from  the  eye,  bloomed  away 
its  sweet  life  heedless  of  observers. 

Along  an  uneven  old  wall  that  had  sup-  MU*  Bcttft 
ported  the  terrace  of  the  house,  I  had  a 
bed  dug,  into  which  I  transplanted  such 
bulbs  and  roots  as  would  consent  to  be 
torn  from  their  original  homes.  This  bed 
I  call  Miss  Betsy's  Garden,  for  I  am  quite 
sure  that  in  old  times  that  gentle  soul 
must  have  watched  and  tended  her  favo- 
rites by  this  same  sunny  wall.  There  is 
one  prim  little  Columbine  which  wears  a 
minutely  fluted  lavender  cap  that  I  associ- 
ate with  her,  and  always  call  by  her  name. 
The  flowers  that  come  up  in  Miss  Betsy's 
Garden  are  all  simple  and  homely,  but  to 
me  their  quaint  familiar  faces  are  more 
appealing  than  the  far  showier  and  splen- 
did blooms  of  to-day. 

They  must  have  family  records  of  inter-  Som*kigk> 
est,  these  ladylike  old  blossoms.     Those 
yellow   Daffodils,  with  their   long  green 
ribbons,  have  nestled  up  against  that  wall 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

till,  no  doubt,  they  regard  it  as  an  ancient 
castle,  of  which  they  are  the  chatelaines  ; 
and  I  am  sure  that  dignified  Narcissus 
must  have  a  history.  There  is  a  sweet 
A  fragrant  June  Honeysuckle  straggling  there  which 
breathes  an  old-time  fragrance,  and  the 
tiny  petals  of  the  pale  pink  Bridal  Rose 
which  flutters  beside  it  have  the  very  tint 
of  soft  color  one  sees  in  the  cheek  of  an 
ancient  maiden.  A  wild  Clematis  seems  to 
grow  out  of  the  wall  itself,  —  I  have  never 
been  able  to  find  its  root,  —  and  every 
fall  a  Prince's-feather  waves  its  tall  plume 
where  once  it  danced  with  a  Lady's-slip- 
per.  The  Pansies  have  all  degenerated 
into  Lady's-delights,  and  the  Hollyhocks 
come  up  single,  but  here  they  grow  and 
blossom  beside  a  pendulous  Forsythia, 
the  seed  of  which  was,  no  doubt,  sown  by 
some  passing  bird,  for  it  is  not,  I  think, 
one  of  the  older  shrubs  in  this  village. 
FiewfrtM  The  rest  of  the  garden  is  perfectly 
tkgfraa-  formless  and  wild.  Nothing  has  been 
done  to  the  old  part  of  the  farm,  except  to 
clean  away  the  weeds  and  sticks  that  en- 
cumbered it,  and  the  old  plants  have  grown 
lank  and  tall  along  the  fence  and  under 
68 


The  Wreck  of  an  Ancient  Garden 

the  heavy  shade  of  the  trees.  But  here 
in  the  spring  the  ground  is  blue  and  fra- 
grant with  hardy  English  Violets,  that  fill 
the  air  with  perfume  and  blossom  long 
before  even  the  native  White  Violet,  which 
leads  the  way  among  our  New  England 
flowers ;  and  wherever  you  walk  you  come 
upon  a  Tulip,  or  a  Star  of  Bethlehem,  or 
a  feeble  Crocus  choked  by  the  strong 
grasses,  and  cheery  DafTys  are  wagging 
their  golden  heads  in  sheltered  spots,  and 
later  there  are  to  be  seen  groups  of  sculptu- 
resque Narcissus  shining  whitely  under  the 
shrubbery,  •'  like  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty 
world."  The  Flowering  Almond  sends 
up  spikes  of  bloom  ;  the  Periwinkle,  white 
and  blue,  hides  among  its  shining  leaves, 
while  the  Moneywort  has  strayed  away 
from  the  garden  and  made  of  itself  a  nui- 
sance in  the  orchard,  where  it  threatens 
to  root  out  everything  else.  There  also 
are  great  clumps  of  the  giant  Solomon's 
Seal  in  shady  nooks,  where  they  grow  to 
wondrous  size. 

And  the  Flower  o'  the  Quince  is  a  rare 
sight  in  the  springtime,  as  its  rosy  flush  * 
mantles  the  scraggy  old  trees  which  are 
69 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

good  for  little  but  blossoms.  There  is  a 
huge  Viburnum  bush  in  the  orchard  which 
is  a  snowy  mass  in  May,  when  the  Snow- 
berry  buds  are  showing  their  little  pink 
heads  against  the  fence,  where  they  strug- 
gle with  the  wild  Raspberry  bushes  which 
make  their  life  burdensome  to  them  ;  and 
in  places  through  the  grass,  where  once  a 
well  kept  Strawberry  patch  existed,  are  to 
be  found  the  white  blossoms  of  a  few  sur- 
vivors mightier  than  their  conquerors. 

In  a  low,  neglected  spot  is  a  clump  of 
those  old  orange-colored  Lilies  that  used 
always  to  abound  in  country  gardens,  for 
once  established  they  could  never  be 
rooted  out ;  and  these,  undiscouraged  by 
frequent  mowings,  bloom  and  spread  in 
unchecked  luxuriance. 

There  are  Lilacs,  purple,  white  and  Per- 
sian, in  profusion,  and  the  Mock  Orange 
and  Spiraeas  all  have  their  turn  as  the 
•  seasons  go  round.  One  White  Lilac  has 

shot  up  to  the  height  of  a  two-story  house, 
and  now  that  the  windows  are  no  longer 
there  to  help  one  to  gather  them,  it  shows, 
when  in  bloom,  a  crown  of  inaccessible 
blossoms;  others  yield  their  wealth  of 
70 


The  Wreck  of  an  Ancient  Garden 

flowers  nearer  at  hand,  and  by  the  well 
a  Persian  Lilac  drops  like  a  fountain  with 
rosy  jets. 
No  longer  supported  by  the  fallen  house,  Rom  ofy* 

...  ...       .  olden  time. 

a  Trumpet  Creeper,  which  trailed  along 
the  ground,  has  been  clipped  into  a  com- 
pact bush.  A  venerable  Althaea,  which 
we  did  our  best  to  save,  blossomed  feebly 
for  a  season  or  two  and  then  perished,  de- 
prived of  the  accustomed  shelter  of  the 
porch ;  but  great  bushes  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned White  Rose  abound,  and  there,  too, 
is  the  sweet  Blush  Rose,  beloved  of  the 
bee  and  the  sturdy  Hessian.  A  large 
Damask  Rose  still  flourishes  under  the 
Lilacs,  and  a  luxuriant  Baltimore  Belle 
climbs  in  reckless  profusion  over  its  con- 
fining wires.  Where  the  fence  stood  is  a 
low  cluster  of  bushes  covered  in  summer 
with  a  bold  Red  Rose,  single  and  splendid, 
the  remote  parent,  perhaps,  of  the  Jacque- 
minot -,  they  call  it  here  the  Russian  Rose, 
but  I  do  not  know  what  its  real  name 
may  be ;  and  down  in  the  orchard  I  found 
a  bush  of  the  dear,  thorny  little  Scotch 
Rose,  the  smell  of  which  is  laden,  as  is  no 
other,  with  the  memories  of  childhood. 
71 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 


Honuly 
flowert. 


An  aged 
Box  arbor. 


There  are  clumps  of  Tiger  Lilies,  and 
old-fashioned  small  Bluebells,  and  Sweet 
Williams,  and  a  Barberry  bush  swings  its 
yellow  blossoms  and  red  berries  over  the 
rear  wall ;  and  under  the  Box-arbor  I  found 
Spiderwort  growing  in  great  clusters. 

One  day,  while  strolling  down  along  the 
orchard  fence,  a  familiar  odor,  heavy  and 
sweet,  led  me  on  to  where  a  wild  Aza- 
lea was  hanging  out  its  fragrant  blos- 
soms. I  do  not  see  why  a  hedge  of  these 
might  not  do  well  in  this  moist  soil.  I 
hailed  this  one  with  delight  as  an  orna- 
ment to  the  place. 

But  what  we  like  best  is  the  fine  old 
Box  arbor,  which  has  grown  up  from  a 
garden  border  until  its  stout  trees  are  now 
six  inches  in  diameter,  and  nearly  ten 
feet  high,  which  shows  their  great  age. 
They  were  fair-sized  bushes  when  old  men 
of  this  town  were  boys,  and  to  make  even 
a  bush  of  a  Box  plant  is  slow  work.  Here, 
shaded  by  a  young  Elm  which  has  sprung 
up  in  the  kindly  shelter  of  these  twisted 
old  trunks,  we  sit  and  look  out  upon  the 
meadow  and  the  growing  plants,  and  feel 

7* 


The  Wreck  of  an  Ancient  Garden 
linked  with  the  past  by  this  memento  of  Memento  of 

tkt  past. 

those  who  loved  this  garden  spot,  and 
toiled  to  make  it  fair  and  fruitful,  even  as 
we,  too,  toil  to  restore  its  beauty  and  pro- 
ductiveness. 

73 


VII 
A  NEW  PERENNIAL    GARDEN 


Pluck  the  primroses ;  pluck  the  violets ; 
Pluck  the  daisies, 
Sing  their  praises ; 

Friendship  with  the  flowers  some  noble  thought 
begets. 

EDWARD  YOUL. 


VII 

[HOUGH  the  old  garden  has  a  it  requires 
quaint  attraction  from  its  very 
antiquity,  the  effort  to  make  its 
successor  the  subject  of  a  chap- 
ter reminds  me  of  the  remark  of  a  literary 
man,  who  paid  his  only  visit  to  Scotland 
in  the  winter-time,  that  he  realized  more 
fully  than  ever  before  how  great  was  the 
genius  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  which  had 
given  world-renown  for  picturesqueness  to 
those  low,  round,  bare,  uninteresting  hills, 
the  Trossachs.  Lacking  that  genius,  I 
am  somewhat  dismayed  at  telling  the 
story  of  my  very  unimportant  little  gar- 
den. Our  late,  cold  springs  render  it 
rather  a  dreary  object  of  contemplation 
even  in  the  month  of  May,  and  with  only 
the  power  of  words  to  help  the  reader's 
enjoyment,  I  shall  have  to  ask  indulgence 
for  the  meagre  record  of  its  very  simple 
charms. 

77 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 


used  to  tel1  a  story  of  an 

Irish  prison  that  was  to  be  built  out  of 
the  stones  of  an  old  one,  while  the  prison- 
ers were  to  be  kept  in  the  old  jail  until 
the  new  one  was  completed.  This  tale 
suggests  our  fashion  of  constructing  a 
new  garden  out  of  the  former  one,  and 
in  our  case  the  prisoners  showed  a  de- 
cided preference  for  the  original  institu- 
tion, and  were  with  great  difficulty  per- 
suaded to  leave  it.  We  started  out 
with  no  very  definite  plan  beyond  killing 
two  birds  with  one  stone,  always  a  desir- 
able object  when  one  is  short-handed, 
and  the  results  are  not  particularly  im- 
pressive. 

A  garden  While  the  house  at  Overlea  was  build- 
ing, the  carpenters  kept  their  tools  in  a 
part  of  the  old  dwelling  that  was  still 
standing,  and  their  constant  journeys  to 
and  fro,  between  the  knoll  and  the  work- 
shop, wore  a  narrow  winding  path,  along 
which  we  had  a  flower-bed  dug,  to  put 
such  roots  in  as  we  wished  to  bring  with 
us  from  the  rented  place  that  we  were  oc- 
cupying, and  also  to  serve  as  a  home  for 
such  plants  as  we  might  dig  up  about  the 


A  New  Perennial  Garden 


farm.  Some  sprigs  of  Box,  broken  from 
the  arbor,  and  set  in  the  'soil  at  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  took  root  and  made  a  rough 
border,  and  here,  in  August,  I  trans- 
planted Lily  bulbs,  and  a  little  later  put 
in  such  perennials  as  needed  to  be  set  out 
in  the  fall. 

Between  this  flower-bed  and  the  street  Some  old 

r  ,.  i  i    T-»  Pear-trees. 

were  three  rows  of  straggling  old  rear- 
trees  that  gave  some  suggestion  of  possi- 
ble fruitfulness,  though  it  seemed  likely 
that  they  were  too  old  to  profit  by  prun- 
ing. They  had  been  famous  in  their  day, 
and  still  preserved  the  remnants  of  a  repu- 
tation, though  more  modern  varieties  have 
borne  away  the  palm  in  newer  gardens. 
But  Bartletts  and  Sheldons  and  Seckels 
will  never  be  out  of  date,  and  there  are 
others,  the  very  names  of  which  the  old 
settlers  have  forgotten,  which  still  yield 
sweet  and  luscious  fruit,  when  the  weather 
and  the  insects  permit.  Half  dead  they 
seemed  when  we  first  went  to  work  at 
them,  cutting  away  the  dead  branches  and 
scraping  their  mossy  trunks,  to  the  infinite 
disturbance  of  the  insects  which  had  clus- 
tered there  for  warmth,  and  we  recognized 
79 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 


What  we 
did  to  them. 


A  box  of 
plants. 


that  only  strong  methods  would  revive 
them. 

We  needed  sods  for  the  terraces  we 
were  making,  and  so  began  by  removing 
the  turf  around  the  trees,  leaving  narrow 
strips  of  grass  to  walk  upon.  This  fur- 
nished us  with  three  wide  beds,  which  we 
fertilized  heavily  with  rich  compost  and 
wood-ashes,  the  surface  being  tilled  with 
great  care,  keeping  the  edge  of  the  spade 
turned  toward  the  trunk  to  avoid  cutting 
off  the  rootlets  of  the  trees.  A  memory 
of  an  old  garden  in  which  I  had  played 
when  a  child,  where  Pear-trees  grew 
among  the  flowers,  induced  me  to  think 
of  utilizing  these  broad  fertile  spaces  for 
perennials.  The  Pear-trees  were  at  that 
time  doubtful  as  fruit-producers,  but  they 
would  afford  a  grateful  shelter  from  the 
hot  sun  when  we  were  working  among  the 
plants,  and  their  sparse  foliage  would 
hardly  interfere  greatly  with  the  flowers. 

In  the  spring  a  generous  friend  sent  me 
a  box  of  hardy  plants,  which  were  set  out 
at  random,  as  they  came  without  labels, 
and  many  of  them  were  unfamiliar  to  me. 
I  do  not  find  that  they  interfere  much 
80 


A  New  Perennial  Garden 


with  the  Pear-trees,  which,  under  this 
steady  cultivation,  yield  more  of  their  fine 
old-fashioned  fruit  than  we  know  what  to 
do  with,  for  pears  are  a  drug  in  this  mar- 
ket and  can  hardly  be  given  away.  The 
Pear-trees  certainly  do  not  hinder  the 
growth  of  the  sturdy  perennials,  which 
multiply  enormously,  so  that  every  spring 
and  fall  there  are  quantities  of  them  to  be 
shared  with  friends.  A  nurseryman,  who 
came  last  year  to  set  some  Strawberry- 
plants,  declared  that,  if  properly  divided, 
there  were  roots  enough  there  to  stock  an 
acre. 

Such  strong,  showy  plants  as  the  Iris,  They  thrive. 
the    Foxglove,    and    the    Giant   Evening 
Primrose  flourish  admirably,  while  Phlox 
and  Hollyhocks  and  Columbines  and  Spi- 
raeas encumber  the  ground. 

There  is  a  huge  Oriental  Poppy  that  is 
a  gorgeous  spectacle,  with  its  rich  blue- 
green  velvet  robes  and  its  silken  headgear 
of  scarlet  and  black,  producing  all  alone 
the  effect  of  a  procession,  as  Bret  Harte 
once  said  of  Roscoe  Conjding. 

Smaller  Poppies  come  up  of  their  own 
accord,  some  single,  some  double,  as  the 
81 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

The  thing*  fancy  takes  them,  and  there  is  a  wild  ar- 
r*y  of  Larkspurs  and  Coreopsis  and 
Sweet  Williams  all  summer.  In  the 
spring  the  variegated  Thyme  comes  up 
promptly,  followed  closely  by  English 
Daisies  and  Moss  Pinks,  and  Pansies  and 
Violets,  white,  blue  and  yellow.  The 
Giant  Solomon's  Seal  rings  its  green  bells 
over  the  heads  of  the  tiny  Bellwort ;  and 
all  summer  the  Lilies  and  Peonies  and 
Spiderworts  fight  for  possession  of  the 
ground,  while  the  perennial  Peas,  and 
Calendulas  and  Marigolds  linger  there  till 
the  last  frost-horn  blows. 

The  collection  is  not  very  choice,  and, 
beyond  a  periodical  struggle  with  the 
weeds,  which  try  to  grow  as  rampantly  as 
the  flowers,  it  gets  not  very  much  atten- 
tion ;  but  it  makes  a  fine  show  from  the 
street,  and  from  the  veranda  which  looks 
down  upon  it  Any  minute  effects  would 
be  wasted  here,  and  we  do  not  extend  its 
area,  which  we  might  readily  do,  because 
it  already  requires  more  attention  than  we 
are  willing  to  spare  from  the  shrubs  and 
trees  that  we  are  hurrying  along  upon  the 
lawn,  and  which,  consequently,  take  all 
82 


A  New  Perennial  Garden 


our  best  energies,  as  well  as  the  lion's 
share  of  food.  In  short,  the  flower-garden 
takes  what  it  can  get,  —  copes  more  or  less 
successfully  with  its  own  weeds,  and  pos- 
sibly is  more  satisfactory  than  if  we  took 
more  pains  with  it,  and  so  were  liable  to 
disappointments.  It  is  not  at  all  well 
adapted  to  annuals,  even  Mignonettes 
and  Asters,  which  are  sown  every  year, 
for  the  stronger  plants  rob  them  of  their 
proper  nutriment  ;  but  I  have  future  plans 
for  a  parterre  in  that  neighborhood,  which 
shall  have  fitting  accommodation  for  all 
the  sweet  old-fashioned  kinds  of  yearly 
flowers. 

Supplemented  by  the  old  garden,  the  A 


new  will  even  now  at  any  season  afford  a 
fragrant  and  showy  nosegay,  such  as  our 
grandmothers  liked  for  a  beaupot,  and 
there  is  always  a  mass  of  color  under  the 
Pear-trees  until  late  in  November,  when 
the  cold  pinches  the  very  last  Calendula. 
The  neighborhood  of  the  salt  water  makes 
this  garden  cold,  and  slow  to  awake  in 
spring  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  modifies 
the  temperature  in  the  autumn,  so  that  it 
escapes  the  early  frosts,  and,  under  the 
83 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

shelter  of  the  trees,  the  flowers  last  long 
after  those  upon  the  high  ground  about 
the  house  have  withered  and  fallen. 
A  warm  There  is  a  sheltered  corner,  backed  by 

a  mass  of  Lilacs  and  Mock  Oranges,  where 
I  dream  of  seeing  some  day  a  fine  clump 
of  Rhododendrons  and  hardy  Azaleas, 
though  I  have  some  doubts  about  a  south- 
ern exposure  being  the  very  best  thing  for 
them ;  but  the  decorative  effect  from  the 
house  will  be  so  good  that  we  are  disposed 
to  make  the  attempt.  Skirting  the  old 
wall  to  the  right  of  this,  we  come  to  the 
ancient  Apple  and  Pear  trees  which  are 
the  remains  of  the  once  valuable  orchard, 
that  at  one  time  covered  a  large  part  of 
the  place. 


VIII 
A   VENERABLE   ORCHARD 


O  blessed  shades  !  O  gentle  cool  retreat 

From  all  the  immoderate  heat, 
In  which  the  frantic  world  does  burn  and  sweat ! 
ABRAHAM  COWLEY. 

*Neath  cloistered  boughs,  each  floral  bell  that 

swingeth, 

And  tolls  its  perfume  on  the  passing  air, 
Makes  sabbath  in  the  fields,  and  ever  ringeth 
A  call  to  prayer. 

HORACE  SMITH. 


VIII 

[HE  whole  farm  at  Overlea  might  The  orchard 
well  be  called  an  orchard,  for 
it  abounds  in  Apple  and  Pear 
trees,  which  are  scattered  about 
it,  from  the  point  at  the  north  to  the  foot 
of  the  hill  on  the  south. 

Tall,  fuzzy  old  settlers  they  are,  with 
mossy  trunks  and  gaunt  branches  ;  but, 
like  the  ancient  New  England  human 
stock,  they  die  game,  and  are  useful  to 
the  end.  The  weather-beaten  old  Seckels, 
which  look  perfectly  hopeless,  still  produce 
stout,  brown,  rosy  little  pears,  as  sweet  as 
honey,  if  not  much  bigger  than  an  over- 
grown bumble-bee,  and  the  venerable 
Bartletts,  which  we  threaten  every  year  to 
cut  down,  because  they  look  so  shabby 
and  disreputable  in  their  torn  and  mossy 
old  jackets,  put  off  the  evil  day  by  molli- 
fying us  every  September  with  a  crop, 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

which,  though  not  large,  still  serves  to 
purchase  them  a  reprieve. 
Methuselah  One  of  the  conspicuous  ornaments  of 
the  level  space  below  the  northern  ter- 
race of  the  house  is  an  old  Pear-tree  we 
call  Methuselah,  which  was  transplanted 
in  1779,  and,  in  spite  of  its  great  age,  still 
bears  a  profusion  of  hard,  sweet  pears, 
which  the  housewives  consider  excellent 
for  coddling,  or  preserving  with  barberries. 
This  ancient  and  honorable  old  continen- 
tal, which  stands  some  fifty  feet  in  its 
stockings,  girths  ten  feet  and  three  inches 
a  foot  from  the  ground,  and  has  a  coat  so 
beautifully  wrinkled  and  seamed  with  age, 
that  our  artist  friend  tells  us  a  Japanese 
would  beg  a  bit  of  the  bark  for  a  curio, 
and  exhibit  it  as  a  precious  and  artistic 
possession.  In  the  spring  its  venerable 
poll  is  snowy  with  blossoms,  and  though 
its  great  trunk  is  quite  hollow  within,  the 
six  huge  branches  into  which  it  separates 
near  the  base  spread  wide  and  strong,  and 
send  out  from  their  broken  tops  vigorous 
young  shoots,  on  which  the  fruit  grows 
profusely. 

We  suppose  this  to  be  the  original  well 
88 


A  Venerable  Orchard 


known  Gushing  Pear-tree,  as  this  farm 
was  a  part  of  the  colonial  grant  to  Mat- 
thew Gushing  in  1634,  and  was  the  Stamm- 
haus  of  that  widespread  race,  which  held 
the  property  in  the  Gushing  name  for  two 
hundred  and  forty  years,  the  land  having 
descended  by  will  from  one  to  another, 
so  that  we  hold  the  first  deed,  and  paid  the 
first  money  that  was  ever  given  for  it. 

The  Apple  orchard  proper,  which  is  in  The  AMU 

.  .         orchard. 

the  shape  of  a  flat-iron,  lies  in  the  point 
of  the  place,  which  is  quite  filled  by  three 
or  four  enormous  old  trees,  which  have 
grown  to  a  great  height,  and  had,  when 
we  came,  immense  branches  that  arched 
over  and  almost  swept  the  ground,  their 
huge  mounds  of  rosy  bloom  in  spring 
making  a  wondrous  sight. 

Since  then,  with  a  vague  idea  of  improv- 
ing them,  though  some  of  the  wise  ones 
tell  us  it  is  a  mistake  to  meddle  with  such 
old  trees,  we  have  had  them  pruned,  that 
the  sun  might  shine  more  directly  upon 
the  apples,  which  failed  to  color  properly 
in  the  dense  shade.  Also,  the  ground 
beneath  them  has  been  plowed,  to  the 
great  detriment  of  their  small  roots,  which, 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

owing  to  the  marshy  ground  below,  lie 
very  near  the  surface. 

Last  year  was  not  their  bearing  year, 
and  not  until  this  autumn  could  we  tell  the 
effect  of  this  surgery,  which  seems  to  have 
had  fairly  good  results,  for  the  yield  was 
satisfactory  though  not  large.  The  plow- 
ing was  not  done  so  much  for  the  trees  as 
for  the  grass,  which  had  been  fairly  driven 
out  by  the  encroachments  of  the  Money- 
wort, which  has  escaped  from  the  garden 
and  runs  riot  over  the  place  ;  and  the  prun- 
ing was  as  necessary  for  the  hay-crop  as  for 
the  fruit,  for  the  great  Elm  hard  by  helps 
to  shade  all  that  part  of  the  grounds,  and 
even  now  the  grass,  when  cut,  has  to  be 
transported  into  the  open  to  be  cured. 

The  year  we  took  possession,  three 
trees  at  this  point  —  a  Baldwin,  a  Rhode 
Island  Greening  and  a  Russet —  furnished 
us  with  about  a  dozen  barrels  of  apples. 
In  addition,  there  are  in  other  parts  of  the 
place  more  old-fashioned  trees,  like  the 
Seek-no-Further  and  Early  Sweet,  that  are 
extremely  useful,  and  fairly  productive  in 
spite  of  their  years  and  infirmities.  One 
of  the  latter  trees  is  quite  a  curiosity,  for 
90 


A  Venerable  Orchard 


half  of  it  is  wholly  denuded  of  bark,  as  if 
it  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  and  the 
trunk  is  perfectly  hollow,  but  the  grafted 
stem  still  sends  out  very  strong  and 
healthy-looking  shoots,  that  yield  an  abun- 
dance of  fine  rosy-cheeked  fruit  every 
other  year. 

The  canker-worm  has  meddled  very  lit- 
tle with  these  trees,  but  the  web-caterpil- 
lar has  to  be  waged  constant  war  upon, 
both  in  spring  and  fall,  and  the  last  two 
summers,  owing  to  the  preceding  mild 
winter,  this  pest  was  particularly  active 
and  ubiquitous. 

A  row  of  Plum-trees  against  the  east 
foundation-wall  of  the  old  house,  which 
still  stands,  and  makes  a  good  shelter  for 
our  Raspberry  bushes,  seem  as  if  they 
would  do  well  if  we  could  only  cope  suc- 
cessfully with  the  murderous  black  knot, 
with  which  we  found  them  perfectly  cov- 
ered. In  1889  all  the  diseased  portions 
were  cut  away,  and-  since  then  they  have 
sent  out  a  quantity  of  tall,  healthy  branches, 
but  no  blossoms,  from  their  closely  polled 
stems ;  we  purpose  next  spring  to  try  the 
effect  of  salt  bags  in  the  crotches  of  the 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

limbs,  which,  we  have  been  told,  is  a  suc- 
cessful way  of  keeping  off  the  curculio. 
But  from  what  we  read  of  the  necessary 
efforts  to  get  rid  of  this  pest,  we  fear  that 
the  plums  would  hardly  be  worth  the  trou- 
ble, for  it  seems  as  if  nothing  less  than  a 
Salvation  Army  would  suffice  to  combat 
this  persistent  beetle  sinner. 

iron  Pears  In  our  orchard  are  Iron  Pears  of  the 
ga^muni-  good  old  kind  that  would  serve  for  ammu- 
nition in  a  field  piece  in  case  of  war,  and 
some  rickety-looking  Lawrences,  that  bear 
excellent  fruit  in  generous  quantities  ;  and 
there  is  a  picturesque  Crab-apple  tree 
which  grows  quite  too  near  the  great  Elm 
to  furnish  any  decent  fruit,  though  it  does 
its  best,  and  strews  the  ground  beneath  it 
with  its  stony  red  and  yellow  apples.  The 
old  Cherry-trees  were  too  worthless,  so  we 
cut  them  down.  We  have  but  few  Peach- 
trees,  though  we  are  told  they  would  thrive 
against  the  hill,  as  they  like  a  northern 
exposure.  We  are  now  preparing  to  plant 
a  fresh  Apple  orchard,  which  ought  to  be 
ready  to  bear  by  the  time  the  old  trees 
quite  give  out,  and  we  are  grateful  for 
suggestions  as  to  the  best  kinds  for  domes- 
92 


A  Venerable  Orchard 


tic  uses,  and  eager  to  know  whether  the 
trees  will  be  more  likely  to  thrive  in  the 
moist  or  in  the  dry  part  of  the  grounds. 

But  there  is  a  charm  about  this  unpro-  charm  of 
ductive  old  orchard,  with  its  wilderness  of  *** orchar<L 
venerable  shrubs  along  the  fence,  that  no 
thrifty  modern  row  of  fruitful  trees  will 
ever  possess.  As  one  sits  there  in  the 
shade  on  a  sunny  day,  with  the  white  pet- 
als drifting  down  from  their  lofty  boughs, 
there  is  a  murmur  of  bees  among  the  foli- 
age, of  robins  chattering  among  the  twigs, 
a  rustle  of  leaves  and  flowers  in  the  gentle 
breeze,  that  seems  the  essence  of  the  many 
summers  gone  that  have  helped  to  swell 
their  great  boles,  and  to  increase  their 
majestic  height.  From  under  the  arch  of 
branches  the  green  meadow  is  visible,  with 
wooded  hills  rising  from  its  margin,  among 
which  nestle  cottages,  white  and  red,  with 
the  faint  smoke  curling  lazily  from  their 
chimneys,  up  to  the  blue  sky  flecked  with 
round  white  clouds*  How  many  years  the 
old  trees  have  looked  out  upon  the  quiet 
meadow,  and  for  how  many  generations 
have  they  dropped  their  rosy  fruit ! 

In  this  new  country  of  ours  we  yearn 
93 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 


OldHinf 
ham. 


A  Memory 
of  Lincoln- 
skirt. 


for  stability,  for  tradition,  for  something 
to  link  us  with  that  past  which  goes  back 
so  little  way  behind  us  here.  Perhaps  the 
grafts  on  these  mossy  limbs  were  brought 
from  England  by  the  early  settlers  who  peo- 
pled the  old  colony.  Under  their  shade  the 
sturdy  Puritan  has  leaned  upon  his  spade 
and  remembered  the  orchards  of  his  native 
land,  which  he  was  never  to  see  again ; 
and  now,  as  the  vision  grows  before  our 
dreaming  eyes,  we  climb  the  ladder  of  the 
past,  and  are  again  in  Lincolnshire,  and 
the  choir-boys  are  chanting  softly  in  the 
distance,  and  the  bells  are  ringing  from  St. 
Andrew's  Church,  of  the  other  Hingham, 
the  gray  towers  of  which  we  see  afar  off, 
instead  of  the  quaint  spire  of  our  old 
meeting-house,  whose  tenscore  years  of 
life  seem  so  little  in  the  older  world,  where 
they  reckon  time  by  centuries  instead  of 
decades. 

We  see  the  wide  green  fens,  and  the 
fallow  fields  besprinkled  with  grazing 
herds,  the  rich  meadows  where  the  lush 
grass  grows,  and  where  great  crops  repay 
the  farmer's  easy  labor ;  the  wolds  with 
their  chalk-hills,  the  thrifty  hamlets,  the 
94 


A  Venerable  Orchard 


sluggish  rivers   creeping  to  the  sea,  the  The  robin 
Humber  with  old  Hull  at  its  mouth,  the  J£^2f<£ 
broad  bay  of  the  Wash,  overlooked   by  chard' 
English  Boston,  the  level  pastures  by  the 
swift-flowing  Lindis,  where  the  great  tide 
came  in.     The  bells  from  the  great  towers 
are  ringing,  —  is  that  the  "  Brides  of  En- 
derby  "  we  hear  ?  —  and  so  we  wander  in 
a  dream  of  the  far  past,  till  the  boom  of 
the  bells  resolves  itself  suddenly  into  the 
humming  of  bees,  the  venerable  towers 
vanish   in  the  shaggy  trunks  around  us, 
and  we  are  awake  once  more,  under  the 
bending  boughs  of  the  old  orchard,  with 
only  a  robin  for  a  chorister. 

95 


IX 


A  STRUGGLE  WITH  THE   WEB- 
WORM 


Devoured  by  worms,  like  Herod,  was  the  town. 

LONGFELLOW. 

Nine  hundred  thousand  reptiles  blue. 

H.  BENNETT. 


IX 


jT  is  a  delightful  thing  to  own  an  The 
orchard,  but  it  is  a  blessing  not 
to  be  enjoyed  without  fighting 
for  it,  since  among  the  difficul- 
ties of  reclaiming  a  place,  one  cannot  ig- 
nore the  necessary  hand-to-hand  conflict 
with  the  various  animal  and  vegetable  en- 
emies which  lie  in  wait  to  destroy  plants 
and  trees.  Eternal  vigilance  is  the  price 
of  vegetation  as  well  as  of  liberty,  and  the 
cultivator  who  dreams  that  he  can  for  a 
moment  take  his  ease  in  his  inn,  reckons 
without  his  guests  of  the  insect-world, 
who  take  short  naps,  and  require  as  much 
nourishment  as  Falstaff.  I  shall  have 
more  to  say  upon  this  subject  at  a  later 
date,  but  the  Apple-trees  remind  me  of 
conflicts  with  the  web-worm,  and  I  find  a 
treatise  upon  his  manners  and  customs 
apropos.  As  an  example  of  pertinacity, 
Bruce's  spider  beside  him  pales  her  inef- 

99 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

factual  fires  ;  as  an  evidence  of  the  apa- 
thetic stupidity  of  man  he  is  unrivaled, 
and  as  a  menace  of  future  untold  horrors 
he  may  well  be  used  to  point  a  moral  of 
gruesome  interest. 

The  real  Some  philosopher  has  said  that  "  the 
'wrld.'*'  real  end  of  the  world  will  come  when  man 
ceases  to  be  able  to  cope  with  the  insects." 
When  his  time  comes  the  worm  is  the  mas- 
ter of  us  all,  but  there  is  no  reason  while 
we  are  yet  stirring  about  this  earthly  ball, 
that  we  need  submit  to  be  devoured  by  him 
before  our  day.  And  yet,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  that  is  what  the  brute  is 
after.  Too  cowardly  to  attack  man  openly, 
he  begins  by  eating  up  his  provender. 
Man,  being  on  the  whole  an  easy-going 
animal,  at  first  pays  not  much  attention ; 
but  he  only  multiplies  moderately,  and 
the  insect  enormously.  Where  a  man  will 
leave  a  half  dozen  descendants  in  a  life- 
time, a  worm  will  leave  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  thousand  in  a  season  ;  judge 
then  if  this  can  be  allowed  to  go  on  in- 
definitely, and  man  survive ! 

Where  the  inane  apathy  of  the  human 
being   comes   in,  is   in  not   crushing  his 
100 


A  Struggle  witb  the  Web-worm 

enemy  while  yet  insignificant  ;  forever 
penny  wise  and  pound  foolish,  man  tole- 
rates a  moderate  evil  until  it  becomes  in- 
ordinate, and  then  wastes  a  fortune  which 
might  well  have  been  saved,  in  doing  in- 
effectual battle  with  his  foe.  It  is  the 
fable  of  Epimetheus  forever  renewed,  and 
the  appeal  I  would  now  make  is  to  have 
this  Pandora's  box  closed  before  the  rest 
of  the  web-worms  escape  to  plague  the 
world,  and  help  make  an  end  of  the  race. 
It  is  idle  to  scoff  at  this  idea  as  that 
of  an  alarmist.  A  few  years  ago  the 
spring  web-worm  was  an  unimportant  numbers 
factor  in  our  orchards.  The  fall  worm 
gave  some  trouble,  but  he  was  not  impos- 
sible to  cope  with.  Now,  not  only  do 
we  have  to  fight  for  every  apple  we  pos- 
sess in  the  autumn,  but  all  through  the 
months  of  April  and  May,  when  work 
presses,  when  every  moment  is  precious, 
it  takes  not  only  all  the  hands  on  a 
farm  to  fight  caterpillars,  but  also  all  the 
eyes  of  the  family  to  detect  their  lurking- 
places  ;  and  this  not  as  one  job,  but  as  a 
perpetually  recurring  duty  for  weeks  at  a 
time,  and  all  on  account  of  the  crying  neg- 
101 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

lect  by  land-owners  of  their  premises,  and 
by  town  authorities  of  the  webs  on  their 
own  highways,  which  have  been  allowed 

high-rood. 

to  accumulate,  until  the  country  roads 
have  lost  their  beauty,  lined  as  they  are 
with  trees  shrouded  from  root  to  summit 
in  ghostly  webs,  under  which  myriads  of 
loathsome  black  worms  writhe  and  crawl, 
and  eat  their  fill,  to  the  shuddering  dis- 
gust of  the  wayfarer. 

Far  and  near,  not  only  are  the  Wild 
Cherry  trees,  already  infested  with  the 
odious  black  knot,  left  to  spread  a  second 
plague  among  the  fruit-trees,  but  whole 
orchards  are  allowed  to  bear  unmolested 
swarms  of  caterpillars,  their  owners  pre- 
ferring to  sacrifice  their  apples  rather 
than  take  the  trouble  to  clean  their  trees 
of  the  webs. 

Commtmi-  Since  the  State  of  Massachusetts  has 
t" he  charge  taken  the  Gypsy  Moth  in  hand,  why  should 
not  communities  take  charge  of  their  own 
worms,  and  enforce  the  destruction  of  the 
webs  by  each  land-owner,  under  penalty 
of  a  fine,  while  the  street  commissioners 
be  made  to  attend  to  the  trees  bordering 
the  highway  ? 

102 


A  Struggle  with  the  Web-worm 

The  farmers  who  neglect  this  rapidly  Farmers 
increasing  nuisance  seem  to  me  like  the 
Turk  who  sits  under  a  crumbling  wall, 
murmuring,  "  God  is  great !  if  it  falls  it 
falls ! "  and  takes  no  pains  to  get  out  of 
the  way. 

So  far  as  our  own  little  farm  is  con-  H<nuthf 
cerned,  some  tall  Wild  Cherry  trees  that  we 
depend  on  for  a  screen  give  us  timely  no- 
tice of  the  arrival  of  the  pest,  and  bring  us 
all  out  promptly  to  do  battle.  The  worms 
are  fought  with  fire  on  the  end  of  a  pole, 
with  a  tall  clipping  knife,  and  with  a  wire 
brush  attached  to  the  end  of  a  long  bam- 
boo rod,  which  reaches  to  the  very  top  of 
the  tallest  trees,  where,  being  judiciously 
twisted,  it  brings  down  a  crop  of  crawlers 
for  more  positive  destruction  below.  The 
clipping  is  the  most  thorough  method,  for, 
if  done  late  in  the  evening,  the  nest,  with 
all  its  occupants,  can  be  secured  and  its 
contents  burned  or  trampled  to  death.  In 
this  way  all  the  insects  can  be  destroyed, 
but,  of  course,  it  is  only  possible  where 
the  web  is  on  the  end  of  a  small  branch. 
Where  it  lies  in  the  great  crotches,  the 
torch  or  the  wire  brush  must  be  applied  ; 
103 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

but  the  former  lets  some  escape,  and  I  am 
told  that  when  the  nests  are  burned,  the 
fire  shrivels  the  outside  of  the  crawling 
mass,  which  falls  with  the  web  to  the 
ground,  but  the  caterpillars  in  the  heart 
of  the  living  ball  escape,  to  crawl  up  the 
tree  again  and  start  afresh  upon  their 
depredations. 

It  is  of  no  use  to  think  that  you  have 
ttay°"  '  accomplished  your  purpose  because,  after 
heroic  labor,  there  seems  not  a  vestige  of 
a  nest  remaining.  No  sooner  do  you  feel 
that  you  have  routed  the  last  encampment 
of  the  enemy  than,  presto !  his  tents  are 
once  more  like  those  of  the  Assyrian  for 
multitude,  and  in  a  day  or  two  you  must 
resume  your  round  to  find  the  enemy  big- 
ger and  brisker  than  ever.  About  three 
months  of  the  season  have  to  be  given  up 
to  the  two  campaigns,  spring  and  fall,  till 
finally  a  person  of  imagination  begins  to 
feel  that  the  philosopher's  prediction  is 
about  to  be  fulfilled,  and  that  the  worm 
has  come  to  stay. 

"  Of  what  use  are  the  Cherry-trees  ?  " 
say  the  wise  ;  '*  the  worm,  after  all,  is  not 
so  bad  as  the  black  knot,  and  compared 
104 


A  Struggle  with  the  Web-worm 

to  the  canker-worm  he  is  harmless  :  "  but 
the  terror  of  his  multiplication  is  upon  me, 
and  I  live  in  fear  of  the  day  when,  having 
ruined  all  the  fruit-trees,  and  having  failed 
to  find  the  shade-trees  to  his  liking,  the 
worm  may  take  a  fancy  to  investigate 
within -doors  to  find  a  more  tempting 
meal. 

A  vision  of  opening  the  front  door  in  ^ 

vision  of  the 

the  morning  to  find  the  house  encased  in  f*t*rt. 
an  enormous  web,  under  which  the  worms 
are  feeding  on  the  shingles,  and  glaring 
at  you  from  under  their  silken  canopy, 
besets  the  imagination.  You  seize  your 
hat,. a  brisk  young  family  drops  out  of  it; 
your  coat  —  there  are  a  score  of  creeping 
things  inside  the  sleeves.  The  breakfast- 
table  is  invaded  by  a  squirming  throng ; 
others  hang  from  the  draperies  and  wan- 
der across  the  ceilings.  Why  may  not  the 
web-worms  become  as  great  a  pest  to  us 
as  the  termites  prove  to  the  South  Afri- 
can, if  the  apathetic  public  does  not 
awake  in  time  to  the  necessity  of  destroy- 
ing them  while  they  are  yet  in  the  minor- 
ity? 

Here  in  this  town,  where  the  neglect  of 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

certain  farmers  adds  so  greatly  to  the 
labors  of  their  more  thrifty  neighbors,  we 
have  seen  these  loathsome  creatures  mul- 
tiply in  a  few  years  to  an  alarming  extent, 
and  it  seems  as  if  the  time  had  come  to 
render  it  a  penal  offense  to  neglect  to  de- 
stroy the  webs  as  fast  as  they  appear. 
Unquestionably,  the  day  is  coming  when 
some  destructive  measures  will  have  to  be 
adopted,  and  the  sooner  the  matter  is 
taken  in  hand  the  easier  it  will  be  for  all 
concerned  to  get  rid  of  the  evil,  and  I 
should  be  glad  if  some  more  powerful  pen 
than  mine  could  be  used  to  hurry  this 
good  end. 
Anna  An  evil,  trifling  in  itself,  becomes  a 

ntgUcttd  ' 

b*com«sa  menace  if  neglected,  and  the  compara- 
tively inoffensive  character  of  this  little 
brute  seems  to  blind  the  public  to  the  way 
in  which  he  is  multiplying.  A  committee 
to  find  out  how  much  harm  he  does  might 
serve  as  a  preliminary  to  more  strenuous 
measures,  but  if  it  were  only  in  the  inter- 
est of  those  lovely  rustic  roads,  in  which 
we  take  so  much  delight,  it  would  be 
worth  while  to  clear  away  so  obtrusive 
an  eyesore  as  these  loathsome  webs  from 
1 06 


A  Struggle  with  the  Web-worm 

the  waysides,  otherwise  so  beautiful  with 
their  wild  vines  and  tangle  of  bushes. 

Moreover,  for  the  pedestrian  the  mul-  The  worm 
tiplication  of  caterpillars  is  a  distress  the  side-  ° 
yearly  more  and  more  appalling.  After  w 
the  worm  has  eaten  his  fill  he  sets  forth 
upon  his  peregrinations,  to  find  a  shel- 
tered spot  where  he  can  become  a  hermit 
in  a  cell,  until  such  time  as  his  resurrec- 
tion as  a  moth  is  in  order,  and  you  are 
obliged  to  meet  him  on  his  winding  way 
at  every  turn  in  your  path.  Country  side- 
walks swarm  with  the  wretches;  verandas 
are  their  especial  delight ;  you  gather  a 
flower,  a  caterpillar  is  crawling  up  the 
stem  ;  examine  your  trees  of  all  sorts,  the 
brutes  are  making  of  their  trunks  a  public 
promenade,  up  which  they  hurry  at  top 
speed  to  make  a  cocoon  in  the  branches ; 
would  you  rest  yourself  upon  a  bench, 
the  caterpillar  is  there  before  you  ;  if  you 
wear  a  thin  gown,  you  may  have  the  plea- 
sure of  viewing  through  its  meshes  the 
wriggling,  hairy  form  of  your  enemy,  just 
where  you  cannot  get  at  him.  He  makes 
himself  at  home  amid  the  flowers  of  your 
bonnet,  he  swings  down  upon  a  silken 
107 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 
He  is  fatal    thread  within  an  inch  of  your  nose.     He 

to  Christian  .    J 

character,  arouses  in  the  gentlest  breast  a  desire  to 
slay  this  future  parent  of  thousands  ;  he 
undermines  the  character  by  stirring  up 
sentiments  of  virulent  hostility  in  other- 
wise peaceable  souls  ;  he  becomes  a  men- 
ace not  only  to  existence,  but  to  Christian 
character,  by  developing  the  savage  in- 
stincts of  our  nature ;  and,  therefore,  on 
every  ground,  both  physical  and  moral,  he 
is  an  enemy  of  the  public  peace  who  should 
be  taken  in  hand  by  the  authorities  and  be 
doomed  to  extermination. 

Should  I  be  requested  to  provide  my 
enemy  with  a  more  precise  name  than 
Web-worm,  not  being  learned  in  entomol- 
ogy, the  only  term  I  dare  to  vouch  for 
is  Nasticrechia  Krorluppia  (to  be  pro- 
nounced English  fashion). 

To  this  family  I  am  entirely  sure  he  be- 
longs, but  one  of  the  reports  of  the  De- 
partment of  Agriculture  has  a  good  deal 
to  say  about  a  certain  Hyphantria  cunea, 
which  seems  to  correspond  to  him  in  some 
particulars,  and  the  same  report  furnishes 
for  him  ten  more  synonymous  names  that 
apparently  can  be  used  if  necessary. 
108 


A  Struggle  with  the  Web-worm 

From  this  abundance  I  have  selected  the 
above  as  the  most  euphonious  and  descrip- 
tive,  for  nothing  could  be  more  appropri- 
ate than  the  term  "Shameless  Weaver," 
which,  I  have  been  told,  is  the  translation 
of  these  polysyllables.  Should  my  partic- 
ular web-worm  require  a  more  formal  in- 
troduction to  the  public,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  some  entomologist  will  kindly  supply 
his  real  designation  to  those  who  seek  fur- 
ther information  concerning  this  unprinci- 
pled reptile. 

109 


PLANTING   TREES  ON  A 
LAWN 


The  gods  who  mortal  beauty  chase, 
Still  in  a  tree  did  end  their  race. 

ANDREW  MAKVELL. 


HEN  our  house  was  built,  and 

11  i    f         1.1      •  our  first 

the  lawn  prepared  for  their  re-  exptriment 
ception,  we  made  our  first  ex- 
periment  in  moving  good-sized 
trees  in  the  month  of  January,  when  we 
transplanted  two  large  Norway  Maples, 
given  to  us  by  a  friend  on  condition  that 
we  would  take  them  away  at  that  time,  as 
otherwise  they  would  be  destroyed  by 
some  grading  that  was  going  on  where 
they  stood. 

Fortunately,  it  was  an  open  winter,  with 
no  frost  in  the  ground,  and  there  was  no 
difficulty  about  digging.  I  personally  con- 
ducted the  procession,  and  insisted  upon 
having  the  diggers  begin  at  the  outside, 
and  work  in  toward  the  trunk,  so  as  to 
save  all  the  little  roots.  It  was  slow  and 
careful  work,  and  it  took  all  day  to  move 
two  trees.  They  were  too  heavy  to  lift 
with  a  ball  of  earth,  as  we  had  no  special 
"3 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

appliances  for  the  purpose,  for  the  largest 
one  measured  six  inches  through,  two  feet 
from  the  ground,  and  had  a  lofty  top. 

After  the  trees  were  carefully  uprooted 
their  tops  were  cu;  off,  until  the  main 
stems  were  only  about  eight  feet  high,  and 
the  branches  that  were  left  running  up 
from  them  were  also  cut  back  to  within  a 
few  feet  of  their  union  with  the  trunk. 
Could  we  have  foreseen  the  mildness  of 
the  two  succeeding  winters  we  should  have 
been  tempted  to  prune  them  less  severely. 
I  am  almost  sure  that  it  was  unnecessary, 
but  moving  them  at  such  an  unusual  sea- 
son seemed  to  make  it  wise  to  give  them 
more  root  than  top.  It  will  take  about 
four  years  for  them  to  get  back  their  origi- 
nal stature  after  this  severe  treatment,  but 
they  perhaps  have  escaped  risks  of  draw- 
backs by  the  way.  Similar  trees  in  this 
town,  transplanted  without  topping,  though 
they  have  lived,  have  shown  signs  of  fee- 
bleness, and  I  am  disposed  to  think  that 
in  the  end  ours  will  make  the  finer  speci- 
mens. 

The  holes  in  which  they  were  set  were 
dug  six  feet  in  diameter,  and  nearly  five 
114 


Planting  Trees  on  a  Lawn 


feet  deep.  A  gentle  rain  was  falling  when 
the  Maples  were  set ;  six  or  seven  cart- 
loads of  loam  were  put  around  them,  and 
when  the  roots  were  fairly  covered,  and 
the  ground  trodden  closely  about  them, 
water  was  put  into  the  holes  before  they 
were  finally  filled  up. 

These  two  trees,  planted  on  the  south 
side  of  a  gravelly  slope,  so  that  the  mois-  tkt*  trtt*. 
ture  must  run  away  from  their  roots  more 
than  is  desirable,  have  made  so  heavy 
a  growth  in  the  last  two  years,  that  in 
the  middle  of  summer  we  have  been  com- 
pelled to  cut  out  many  large  branches  to 
admit  light,  and  to  improve  their  shape. 
In  addition  to  their  density  of  growth, 
they  have  shot  up  fresh  stems,  between 
seven  and  eight  feet  long,  in  the  two  sea- 
sons they  have  been  fairly  growing,  for 
the  first  summer  they  did  not  accomplish 
much  beyond  a  good  crop  of  leaves.  By 
the  end  of  July  we  look  to  see  them  grow 
four  or  five  feet  more,  as  they  are  fairly 
set,  and  in  fine  healthy  condition.  The 
ground  about  them  has  been  kept  open 
and  cultivated,  and  is  heavily  enriched 
several  times  in  the  course  of  the  summer. 
"5 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

They  are  so  near  the  house  that  we  use 
the  broad  space  around  them  as  beds  for 
Geraniums  and  Heliotropes,  which  proba- 
bly detracts  a  little  from  the  growth  of  the 
trees,  but  at  the  same  time  improves  their 
appearance  and  keeps  the  earth  moist  and 
well  stirred  up  about  their  roots.  When 
the  season  is  dry  they  are  very  thoroughly 
watered  at  least  twice  a  week,  by  leaving 
the  water  from  the  hose  running  on  them 
from  its  open  mouth  for  an  hour  or  two  at 
a  time. 

In  April  we  moved  in  the  same  manner 
a  Silver  Maple,  which  has  grown  nine  feet 
and  ten  inches,  and  a  stocky  White  Wil- 
low, which  has  been  put  quite  near  the 
house  to  give  us  immediate  shade,  of 
which  we  are  greatly  in  need,  and  which 
is  to  be  cut  down  as  soon  as  the  Maples 
are  big  enough.  This  last  tree,  set  in  a 
very  dry  place,  has  grown  a  dense  head 
nine  feet  six  inches  in  height,  so  that  it 
is  now  a  tree  seventeen  feet  high. 

These  are  the  best  we  have  to  show,  ex- 
cept a  Catalpa,  which  has  made  a  most 
luxuriant  growth,  for  our  Ash-leaved  Ma- 
ple, which  was  also  disposed  to  make  a 
116 


Planting  Trees  on  a  Lawn 


record,  has  been  moved  twice  and  so  set 
back.  But  this  growth  on  a  gravel-bank, 
where  no  one  thought  that  trees  could  be 
made  to  live  at  all,  is  not  to  be  despised. 
Some  of  the  other  trees  have  grown  almost 
equally  well,  but  were  not  so  large  to  begin 
with,  so  they  seem  less  important. 

In  that  same  April  the  generous  friend  A  generous 
who  furnished  us  with  the  large  Willow 
and  the  Silver  Maple,  kindly  sent  us,  in  ad- 
dition, a  dozen  moderate-sized  trees  which 
he  was  disposed  to  think  would  grow  faster 
than  the  larger  ones ;  and  these  were  placed 
somewhat  at  random  on  the  lawn,  for  they 
came  unexpectedly,  and  had  to  be  set 
without  much  reflection,  so  that  some  of 
them  have  had  to  be  moved  again. 

And  here  we  will  honestly  admit  that  the 
landscape-gardener  would  have  been  of 
great  use  to  us,  for  the  lack  of  experience 
gives  one  a  feeling  of  uncertainty  about 
the  result  of  even  his  best -considered 
arrangement,  which  is  often  disquieting. 

We  know  for  one  thing  that  we  have  ciosepiant- 
too  many  trees  too  near  together,  because  ^"^ 
we  never  dreamed  they  would  all  make 
up  their  minds  to  live,  and  we  discover 
117 


The  Rescue  cf  an  Old  Place 


that    JUMfl    t^  If  ing 

tree  grow,  we  cannot 
to  disturb  it  for  fear  it  will  be  in  the  way 
in  the  future,  and  so  we  postpone  the  evil 
day.  Possibly  they  wfll  do  better  in  their 
wind-swept  situation  for  not  being  widely 
separated,  and  for  the  next  generation, 
which  will  be  unrestrained  by  oar  senti- 
ments, we  hare  provided  some  small  Elms 
that  ought  to  be  good  trees  by  the  time 
the  short-lived  Maples  are  beginning  to 
shoffie  off  their  mortal  coil  We  know 

five  us,  unless  we  emulate  old  Parr,  and 
the 


fired  to  the  age  of  a 
And  died  by  a  faD 


Ebm*ir    AH  we  ask  is  that  they  wfll  hurry  to  shel- 
t*f±  ter  us  from  the  burning  afternoon  sun,  to 

which  our  front  is  exposed,  and  when  their 
task  is  done,  the  noble  Elms,  which  are 
"a  hundred  years  growing,  a  hundred 
years  standing,  a  hundred  years  dying^** 
shall  be  our  monument  when  this  ItOTiff  • 
like  its  ancient  predecessor,  shall  have 
crumbled  to  ruin. 

118 


Planting  Trees  on  a  Lawn 


Impatient  as  we  are  to  achieve  miracles 
of  growth,  we  might  forget  how  much  our 
little  trees  are  doing  were  it  not  for  a  pho- 
tograph taken  in  1888,  which  shows  them 
scudding  under  bare  poles,  that  makes 
their  present  height  quite  imposing  by 
contrast 

In  the  five  years  which  we  claimed  of 
our  critics  in  the  beginning,  we  are  now 
sure  that  all  air  of  newness  will  have  gone 
from  the  knoll,  which,  even  in  the  second 
summer,  astonished  the  passers-by,  who 
were  most  of  them  unused  to  the  results 
that  can  be  attained  by  unremitting  exer- 
tions. 

Against  these  trees  we  have  no  charges 
to  make  of  either  stubbornness  or  ingrati- 
tude  ;  given  the  conditions,  the  results  are 
all,  and  more  than  all,  we  had  a  right  to 
expect.  The  only  ones  that  have  not  been 
what  we  could  wish  are  the  Hemlocks, 
which  object  strenuously  to  the  dry,  windy 
situation,  and  only  live  under  protest  In 
vain  do  we  plant  nursery  trees  with  good 
roots  ;  they  dwindle  and  pine,  and  refuse 
to  profit  by  their  advantages.  Out  of  over 
forty  trees  planted  on  the  lawn  and  its 
119 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

slopes,  they  are  the  only  ones  that  fail  to 
give  satisfaction,  and  we  desire  to  get  the 
better  of  them  if  possible. 

No  evergreen  is  so  graceful  and  sugges- 
***  tive  of  wild  woodland  ways  as  this  feathery 
denizen  of  the  forest,  that  seems  to  shrink 
from  the  companionship  of  man.  The  per- 
fume of  its  boughs  reminds  one  of  camps 
in  the  woods,  of  canoes,  of  Indian  guides, 
and  silent  solitudes.  For  me  it  has  ever  a 
peculiar  and  elusive  charm,  and  I  cannot 
come  in  my  wanderings  upon  some  majes- 
tic old  tree  beside  a  granite  boulder,  as  it 
loves  to  grow,  without  a  thrill  compounded 
of  association  and  admiration.  The  Hem- 
lock seems  to  possess  every  beauty  that  a 
tree  can  have :  its  form,  whether  it  be 
symmetrical  with  youth,  or  gnarled  and 
twisted  by  age,  is  always  impressive  and 
noble ;  the  murmur  of  its  boughs  is  ten- 
derly musical,  its  fragrance  exquisitely 
wild  and  aromatic ;  its  very  shyness  has  a 
charm  that  seems  to  breathe  distinction, 
and,  best  of  all,  it  is  perennially  green,  so 
that  its  blue  shadows  on  the  snow  give 
one  of  the  loveliest  tones  in  a  winter 
landscape. 

1 20 


Planting  Trees  on  a  Lawn 

Why,  then,  since  I  woo  it  with  such 
tender  affection,  such  anxious  care,  does 
it  refuse  to  grow  for  me  ?  Possibly  it  is 
killed  with  kindness,  and  some  wholesome 
neglect  may  be  what  its  shy  soul  desires, 
for  I  notice  that  the  little  ones  in  the 
swale,  half  smothered  in  grass,  do  not  die, 
though  left  wholly  to  their  own  wayward 
devices,  while  the  pampered  specimens  on 
the  lawn  lift  bare  and  ragged  branches  to 
the  sky,  from  out  their  luxurious  beds  of 
mulching,  and  are  painfully  disappointing 
and  uncertain. 

121 


XI 

RECLAIMING  A  SAL7 
MEADOW 


Ye  marshes,  how  candid  and  simple,  and  nothing 

withholding  and  free, 
Ye  publish  yourselves  to  toe  sky,  and  offer  your- 

selves  to  the  sea. 

SIDNEY  LAJCIUL 


XI 

|HE  ornamental  part  of  the  place 
once  under  way,  we  had  leisure 
to  give  a  little  attention  to 
the  practical,  and  accordingly 
we  began  to  wish  to  utilize  some  of  the 
waste  land  lying  on  the  east  side  of  the 
farm,  where  the  salt  water  made  free  in- 
roads during  high  tides  into  a  half  acre 
of  otherwise  good  mowing,  and  here  we 
learned  the  meaning  of  an  interesting  par- 
able in  Roman  history. 

The  fable  of  Metius  Curtius  plunging  M,t 
on  horseback  into  the  morass  which  had  i 
opened  in  the  Roman  Forum,  because  the 
oracle  had  declared  that  only  the  best 
thing  in  Rome  would  be  of  avail  to  close 
it  up,  must  have  been  invented  simply 
to  show  that  the  Romans,  great  engi- 
neers as  they  were,  fully  recognized  that 
filling  up  a  marsh  was  a  well-nigh  endless 
job,  which  would  require  the  sacrifice  of 
125 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

the  best  blood  and  treasure  of  the  state 
before  it  was  accomplished. 

Neman  In  spite  of  the  illustrious  warning  given 

by  M.  Curtius,  there  lives  not  a  man  with 


soul  so  dead  as  not  to  be  fired  with  am- 
bition to  make  dry  ground  out  of  his 
meadow,  if  he  is  so  unlucky  as  to  own 
one  ;  and  he  always  starts  in  with  figures 
on  paper  to  show  what  a  fine  income  of 
hay  is  to  result  from  a  comparatively  small 
investment  of  labor  and  gravel.  But  the 
work  goes  on,  then  more  work  and  more 
gravel,  till  finally  the  account  of  this  part 
of  the  business  gets  mislaid,  so  that  by 
the  time  the  far  distant  hay  crop  begins  to 
materialize,  a  haze  has  settled  over  the 
amount  of  capital  (literally)  sunk,  and 
only  the  hay  returns  are  brought  promi- 
nently to  the  front. 

When  we  first  surveyed  the  half  acre  or 
so  of  salt-grass  which  had  been  left  over 
on  our  side  of  the  fence  when  the  road 
was  built  across  the  meadow,  it  did  not 
seem  of  much  importance,  one  way  or  the 
other.  The  English  grass  grew  luxuriantly 
down  to  the  edge  of  it,  and  the  soft,  fine 
salt-hay  was  excellent  for  bedding,  the 
126 


Reclaiming  a  Salt  Meadow 

only  objection  being  that  it  was  so  palata- 
ble that  the  horses  ate  up  their  mattress 
before  breakfast  every  morning. 

After  the  causeway  was  constructed 
across  the  wet  ground  behind  the  stable 
to  Winter  Street,  there  did  not  seem  very 
much  reason  for  meddling  further  with 
the  marsh,  but  given  a  gravel-bank  at  one 
end  of  a  farm,  and  a  swamp  at  the  other, 
and  you  may  depend  upon  it  there  will  be 
a  marriage  between  them  at  no  very  dis- 
tant date. 

The  intercourse  between  the  two  of  our  Tht  km 
acquaintance,  once  begun,  was  seldom  in-  ^«Ju»- 
terrupted ;  the  more  the  meadow  saw  of  u 
the  hill  the  more  it  wanted  to  see,  and, 
with  a  perversity  only  to  be  found  in  mea- 
dows, the  more  it  was  given  the  more  it 
wanted  of  the  same  kind. 

At  first  it  seemed  as  if  a  few  cartloads 
of  stones  dumped  in  the  lowest  parts, 
where  the  water  stood  longest,  would  be 
all-sufficient,  but  the  amount  of  material 
that  this  anaconda  of  a  marsh  can  stow 
away  is,  to  use  the  slang  of  the  day,  phe- 
nomenal. 

Piles  of  stones,  rubbish,  sand,  boughs, 
127 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 
A  marsh      trunks  and  roots  of  trees,  old  crockery, 

will  swallow        ,  .          .  ,.     .          , 

everything,  ashes,  the  debris  of  our  own  and  other 
people's  places,  it  "swallows  them  all 
without  any  remorse,"  till  the  top  of  the 
fence  along  the  road  has  nearly  disap- 
peared from  view,  and  still  it  calls  for 
more,  and  continues  to  subside. 

Across  the  street  our  neighbors  have 
tried  the  experiment  before  us,  so  that  we 
are  aware  that  it  is  unsafe  to  put  soil  on 
this  gravel  until  after  it  has  had  a  chance 
to  settle  for  a  year  or  two,  otherwise  a  high 
tide  is  liable  to  come  and  wash  away  all 
the  loam  out  to  sea. 

As  the  surface  rises  the  fresh  water  runs 
off  less  easily,  so  that  the  enterprise  gains 
in  magnitude  as  it  goes  along,  and  the 
space  covered  promises  to  turn  out  a 
whole  acre  instead  of  half  a  one,  before 
the  job  is  fairly  completed. 

A  capacious  Still,  time  and  the  hill  will  fill  even  this 
capacious  maw,  and,  though  at  present  in 
a  transition  state,  the  meadow  gives  prom- 
ise of  a  beautiful  grass  field,  which,  it  is 
to  be  hoped,  will  repay  all  the  labor  of  its 
construction. 

The  tradition  goes  that  the  building  of 
128 


Reclaiming  a  Salt  Meadow 

the  street  behind  us  across  his  meadow-lot  Building  a 

was   too  much    for   the    gentleman  who 

owned  the  place  at  the  time  it  was  made, 

and  that  he   never  recovered  from   the 

shock  of  having  his  estate  thus   divided 

and  his  house-lot  spoiled.    The  enterprise 

was  a  formidable  one,  for  it  involved  the 

construction  of  a  great  stone  arch  across 

the  stream  that  drains  the  meadow,  and 

the  laying  down  of  heavy  plank  rafts  for 

the  piers  of  the  stone  bridge  to   stand 

upon.     For  years  the  road  would  be  built 

up  to  a  good  height  every  summer,  and 

then  would  subside  under  the  influence  of 

the  high  tides  in  the  autumn  and  spring, 

till  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  hold  its 

own,  and  keep  its  head  above  water  all 

the  year  round. 

But  constant  renewals  of  the  layers  of  A  good 
gravel  have  at  length  made  of  it  so  sub-  " 
stantial  a  causeway,  that  nothing  but  the 
very    highest    of    spring -tides    prevails 
against  it,  and  such  water  as  finds  itself 
on  our  side  forces  itself  rather  under  than 
over  it. 

Those  of  our  neighbors  who  have  re- 
claimed land  from  the  main  meadow  on 
129 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

La*drt~  the  other  side  of  the  road,  have  done  so 
by  first  building  a  kind  of  rough  dam  of 
stones  and  clay,  and  then  gradually  filling 
in  behind  this  dam  with  rubbish  and  stones 
and  sand  until  they  reach  the  level  of  the 
street.  When  properly  covered  with  loam, 
after  having  had  plenty  of  time  to  settle, 
this  well-watered  foundation  affords  excel- 
lent soil  for  grass,  which  grows  upon  it 
with  great  luxuriance. 

As  the  road  acts  still  further  for  a  dam 
between  us  and  the  meadow,  our  task  be- 
comes simpler,  and  we  can  reclaim  our 
piece  of  land  with  far  less  trouble  than 
our  neighbors  have  had  with  theirs,  and 
we  are  encouraged  to  look  for  equally 
good  results. 

But  it  is  distressing  to  see  the  surface 
of  the  hill,  which  we  would  fain  see  rolling 
in  graceful  slopes  to  the  swale,  waving 
with  the  forest  of  our  imagination,  still 
vexed  by  the  presence  of  carts  and  horses, 
and  torn  by  the  torturing  spade. 

He  who  undertakes  to  change  the  face 
°*  nature  must  needs  have  patience.  Mon- 
archs  like  Nebuchadnezzar  may  hang  gar- 
dens in  the  air  in  a  few  months,  or  a 


Reclaiming  a  Salt  Meadow 

Louis  Fourteenth  may  construct  a  plea-  Freakish 
sure-ground  like  Versailles,  by  the  aid  of 
forty  millions  and  the  genius  of  Lenotre, 
in  a  few  years ;  but  one  who  has  not  the 
resources  of  an  empire  at  command  must 
imitate  more  closely  Nature's  own  deliber- 
ate and  tortuous  methods,  often  seeing 
the  labor  of  years  destroyed  in  a  moment 
by  an  unforeseen  freak  of  the  old  dame, 
who  resents  being  interfered  with,  or  find- 
ing to  his  dismay  that  his  own  scheme 
has  been  a  mistaken  one,  and  must  be 
revised. 

An  illustrious  townsman  of  ours  started 
like  ourselves  with  a  bit  of  salt  meadow, 
in  which  he  laboriously  constructed  a 
pond,  spending  his  hours  of  ease  from 
the  cares  of  state  in  building  a  wall  about 
it,  to  make  a  neat  and  appropriate  curb. 
But  after  this  was  accomplished,  with 
much  trouble,  it  proved  not  to  be  at  all 
what  he  wanted,  so  that  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  fill  the  hole,  and  with  months 
of  labor  bring  the  meadow  into  a  smoothly 
turfed  field. 

Our  day  of  repentance  has  not  yet 
dawned,  but  we  have  a  fear  that  it  lurks 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Htr  malice,  somewhere  behind  the  horizon.  Some 
modern  Metius  Curtius  may  yet  have  to 
be  found  to  help  fill  up  the  marsh  with  a 
horse  and  wagon,  for  that  Charybdis  has 
already  taken  toll  more  than  once  from  a 
dump-cart,  though  she  has  not  yet  suc- 
ceeded in  swallowing  it  up  in  spite  of  vari- 
ous malicious  efforts.  She  has  designs 
upon  the  cow,  only  frustrated  by  careful 
watchfulness,  and  to  her  deep  treachery 
there  is  no  end.  The  family  purse  she 
long  ago  put  in  her  pocket,  and  her  mouth 
yawns  for  all  the  future  revenues  that 
may  accrue  for  her  benefit.  She  has  eaten 
up  a  large  part  of  a  neighbor's  hill,  be- 
sides taking  most  unbecoming  bites  out  of 
our  own,  and  if  ever  future  generations 
weave  a  legend  about  the  ancient  dragon 
of  Overlea,  which  demanded  a  victim  every 
summer,  it  will  be  traced  by  the  unraveler 
of  myths  of  the  period,  to  the  unremitting 
appetite  of  this  hungry  meadow. 

But  who,  looking  out  on  some  sweet 
spring  day  upon  that  beguiling  distance, 
could  believe  ill  of  anything  so  softly 
lovely  as  the  picturesque  marsh  of  which 
our  field  is  the  fag-end.  In  the  foreground, 
132 


Reclaiming  a  Salt  Meadow 

the  richest  tones  of  green  are  gently 
blending  in  the  grass  ;  in  the  middle  dis- 
tance a  point  runs  out  towards  the  stream, 
laden  with  fruit-trees  in  snowy  bloom  ;  the 
Willows  near  and  far  are  putting  on  their 
gray-green  coats,  making  a  tender  shim- 
mer around  their  swaying  branches  and 
graceful  twigs.  The  little  river  winds,  blue 
and  full,  here  and  there  amid  the  grassy 
stretches,  and  the  distant  hills  are  full  of 
opalescent  hues  of  emerald  and  pearl, 
with  red  of  tree-stems,  and  faintest  green 
hints  of  foliage,  such  as  Monet  would 
love  to  paint.  The  houses  of  the  port, 
not  yet  quite  veiled  by  leaves,  make  spots 
of  white  and  yellow  and  red  against  the 
deepening  background  of  Elms  and  Ma- 
ples. A  streak  of  blue  still  indicates  the 
harbor  ;  by  to-morrow  it  will  have  disap- 
peared, for  the  vision  changes  like  a  kalei- 
doscope,—  the  white  of  Pear  blossoms 
passing  like  a  cloud,  to  be  succeeded  by 
the  rosy  blush  of  Apple  buds.  Each  day 
some  well-known  feature  of  the  winter 
landscape  grows  fainter  as  the  leaves  ex- 
pand, till  of  a  sudden  you  look  for  it  and 
it  has  gone,  and  in  its  stead  are  the  full- 
133 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

robed  trees.     Over  all  domes  a  blue  sky 
streaked  with  faint  white   cirrus   clouds, 
only   the    azure   reflected    in    the   placid 
stream  below. 
A  picture         An  impressionist  alone  could  catch  this 

txquisite,  . 

butevantt-  fleeting  beauty  of  early  May  —  to-day  one 
thing,  to-morrow  another  —  and  fix  it  eter- 
nally upon  his  canvas.  The  tender  grace 
of  early  spring,  and  the  glowing  glory  of 
autumn  are  alike  evanescent  and  wonder- 
ful expressions  on  this  smiling  meadow 
face.  Like  a  dream,  this  hint  of  ineffable 
beauty  melts  away,  and  the  impression 
gives  place  to  a  reality  of  vivid  green  field 
and  dark  blue  water,  which  wilf  make  but 
a  pleasant  inland  landscape  until  the  Au- 
gust sun  burnishes  it  into  ruby  and  gold, 
and  makes  it  once  more  a  vision  for  a 
painter. 

The  exquisite  must  perforce  be  evanes- 
cent, that  no  touch  of  commonness  may 
mar  its  distinction.  "The  tender  grace 
of  a  day  that  is  dead"  haunts  many  a 
spot,  otherwise  tame  enough,  with  a  mem- 
ory and  a  knowledge  of  its  capabilities, 
that  make  it  forever  dear  and  beautiful  to 
him  who  has  seen  it  under  that  enchant- 
134 


Reclaiming  a  Salt  Meadow 

ing  glamour  lent  by  a  season,  or  an  hour,  Memory  of 
which  imprints  upon  the  brain  a  picture  ** 
that  can  never  be  forgotten.     And  when 
at  other  times  of  year  I  look  upon  this  far 
reach  of  often  -  changing   meadow,  there 
abides  with  it  always  a  memory  of  the  soft 
and  tender  charm  of  early  spring,  that  no 
reality  of  November-brown  or  winter-snow 
can  wholly  drive  away. 
135 


XII 
TERRACES  AND  SHRUBS 


How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned,  but  with  shrubs  and  flowers  ? 

MAXVELL. 


XII 

ONTINUING  our  practical   ef-  Th*  lot  too 

small  for  a 

forts,  we  were  moved  to  enlarge  house. 
around  our  dwelling  the  space 
which,  after  a  year's  occupation, 
we  found  rather  too  contracted  to  be  en- 
tirely satisfactory;  for,  though  we  have 
no  especial  preference  for  terraces,  which 
used  to  form  a  feature  of  many  old-fash- 
ioned homes,  the  conditions  of  our  house- 
lot  have  forced  them  upon  us  on  three 
sides.  As  I  have  before  stated,  the  flat 
top  of  the  knoll  is  very  limited  in  extent, 
so  that,  even  in  building,  we  were  forced 
to  cut  our  coat  according  to  our  cloth,  and 
support  the  rear  of  the  house  with  a  high 
basement,  to  serve  for  laundry,  dairy,  and 
other  offices,  instead  of  adding  the  more 
usual  L,  or  wing. 

The  width  of  the  lot  at  this  point  would 
not   allow  of   more  than  ninety  feet  be- 
tween us  and   the  highway,  even  by  set- 
139 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

ting  the  building  as  far  back  as  possible  ; 
and  when  this  was  done,  leaving  a  gentle 
slope  from  the  front  door  to  the  road,  the 
ground  on  the  north  and  south  sides  of 
house  fell  with  such  abruptness  from  the 
foundations  that  no  room  was  left  even 
for  a  passage-way. 

HOW  it  was  This  lack  was  remedied  on  the  north  of 
the  house  by  constructing  a  terrace  suffi- 
ciently wide  on  top  for  a  tree  or  two,  and 
some  shrubbery  to  mask  the  foundations, 
with  plenty  of  space  for  climbing  things 
to  grow  over  the  veranda.  This  bank, 
supported  on  the  east  by  the  heavy  wing- 
wall  of  the  house,  slopes  to  a  driveway 
below,  which  leads  to  the  stable  behind. 
It  is  high  and  steep,  but  well  sodded,  and 
rather  adds  to  the  commanding  effect  of 
the  house,  beside  serving  to  break  the 
height  of  the  building  at  the  back.  A 
flight  of  steps  at  the  rear  of  the  veranda 
leads  to  the  drive  below,  and  some  good- 
sized  Pines  have  been  planted  there  to 
still  further  hide  the  basement. 

Fault  in  the  The  main  approach  was  not  planned 
with  sufficient  consideration  for  anything 
but  convenience,  and  consists  of  a  semi- 
140 


Terraces  and  Sbrubs 


circular  driveway  to  allow  the  house  to  be 
easily  reached  from  both  ends  of  the  town, 
but  it  would  be  better  if  the  front  door 
were  only  accessible  from  the  north  to 
carriages,  which  would  give  us  an  un- 
broken stretch  of  grass  on  the  east  and 
south,  whereas  now  there  is  a  half-moon 
of  greensward  in  front,  inclosed  between 
the  driveway  and  the  street,  thickly 
planted  with  trees,  destined  soon  to  form 
an  effectual  screen  betwen  us  and  the 
dusty  road. 

South  of  the  house,  near  the  highway,  We  con- 
the  ground  slopes  gently  into  the  swale,  terrace. 
which,  with  its  groups  of  trees,  forms  a 
side  lawn  of  uneven  surface,  bounded  at 
the  rear  by  the  hill,  with  its  rising  tiers 
of  little  Pines.  Near  the  dwelling,  how- 
ever, in  order  to  get  any  greensward  or 
shade  at  all,  we  were  forced  to  build, 
of  stones  and  gravel,  a  terrace  some 
twenty-five  feet  in  width  at  its  narrowest 
part,  to  support  which  about  two  hundred 
feet  or  more  of  massive  wall  were  con- 
structed. This  wall  is  low  in  front,  and 
buries  itself  in  the  grassy  slope,  but  where 
it  curves  around  the  knoll  at  the  rear,  it 
141 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

is  six  feet  high,  and  makes  a  warm  back- 
ground for  Grapevines,  and  the  hot-beds, 
which  are  placed  below  the  vines,  fronting 
the  south.  A  steep  bank,  thickly  sodded, 
descends  from  the  level  of  the  lawn  to  the 
top  of  the  wall,  which  is  also  covered 
with  turf.  This  sunny  south  terrace  is 
the  very  spot  for  the  old-fashioned  Rose 
bushes  which  we  have  transplanted  hither 
from  the  other  parts  of  the  place,  and 
here,  too,  is  a  bed  for  more  delicate  speci- 
mens, which  can  be  protected  by  a  glass 
frame  in  the  winter-time,  as  well  as  a  tree 
to  shade  the  south  windows  from  the  heat. 
The  wall  was  quite  an  important  con- 
struction, and  I  am  afraid  to  say  how 
many  tons  of  stone  went  into  it,  for  the 
largest  portion  of  it  is  underground,  th^ 
results  being  very  solid  and  substantial. 
other  ter-  Behind  the  house,  on  the  basement- 
level,  is  still  another  curved  terrace,  from 
which  a  grassy  cart-path  leads  down  to 
the  swale  and  the  hot-beds,  and  here  the 
various  walls  are  utilized  to  protect  rows 
of  Currant  bushes  above,  and  Raspberry 
bushes  below,  which  are  easy  cf  access 
from  the  kitchen-door. 
142 


Terraces  and  Shrubs 


To  cover  all  this  expanse  of  gravel 
foundation  required  untold  quantities  of  requ" 
loam,  so  much,  indeed,  that  we  thought 
ourselves  fortunate  if  we  could  allow  an 
average  of  four  inches  over  the  whole  sur- 
face of  the  lawn,  but  this  meagre  allow- 
ance seems  to  afford  sufficient  hold  for 
the  grass-roots,  and  heavy  annual  dress- 
ings of  compost  add  continually  to  its 
depth.  It  is  rather  a  curious  study  to 
watch  the  formation  of  soil,  and  the  grad- 
ual way  in  which  the  sand  below  is  trans- 
formed by  the  roots  —  first  into  yellow, 
and  then  into  black  loam.  How  long,  we 
wonder,  will  it  take  before  a  foot  of  soil 
is  obtained  over  a  surface  treated  as  this 
lawn  is  treated,  the  fine  grass  dropped 
from  the  lawn-mower  being  left  upon  it 
without  raking,  and  the  drainage  from  the 
heavily  enriched  trees  always  helping  it 
along,  in  addition  to  its  own  annual  dress- 
ings ? 

The  shrubs  on  the  knoll,  at  first  scat-  impossible  to 

,      ,  ,  .  .  .  mass  a  fe 

tered  about  rather  promiscuously,  as  they 
increase  in  size  we  are  struggling  to  group 
properly,  according  to  the  lights  thrown 
upon  this  subject  by  our  reading,  but  the 
143 


Lack  of 
material. 


A  sketch  in 
shrubs. 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

articles  we  have  carefully  studied  on  this 
topic  presuppose  a  great  number  of  bushes 
of  one  kind  to  begin  with,  and  where  you 
have  perhaps  three  Golden  Spiraeas,  and 
a  half  dozen  Lilac  bushes,  and  a  hardy 
Hydrangea  or  two.  and  a  few  Deutzias, 
and  Weigelias,  and  other  heterogeneous 
things  in  variety,  the  question  is  to  set 
them  so  that  they  will  produce  the  effect 
of  twenty-five  of  each.  We  have  managed 
it  so  that  really  the  shrubbery  appears 
rather  crowded,  but  it  has  been  done  in  a 
manner  to  horrify  the  authorities. 

We  have  treated  our  landscape  very 
much  as  a  painter  would  his  canvas.  We 
dab  in  a  shrub  where  we  think  it  will  pro- 
duce the  effect  of  half  a  dozen,  and  if, 
after  a  few  months,  the  picture  seems  to 
require  its  removal,  out  it  is  scratched, 
and  set  in  another  spot,  and  thus,  in  true 
amateur  fashion,  we  feel  our  way  toward 
a  final  result,  for  we  find  things  never 
look  when  they  are  little  as  they  do  when 
they  are  fairly  grown,  —  the  usual  experi- 
ence of  amateur  gardeners. 

The  best  that  can  be  said  for  this 
method  is,  that  the  results  are  unconven- 
144 


Terraces  and  Shrubs 


tional.     I   have  discovered   that   a  land-  Mannerism 

of  the  pro- 

scape-gardener  gets  a  style,  a  mannerism,  fessionai 
like  a  poet  or  a  draughtsman,  and  that,  * 
after  some  experience,  you  can  detect  the 
professional  manufacturer  of  a  garden  by 
the  receipts  on  which  he  works.  Twenty- 
five  Spiraeas  here,  twenty  Deutzias  there, 
Viburnums  one  dozen,  Lilacs  in  variety, 
Forsythias  eight;  a  bushel  or  two  of  golden 
Evergreens  mixed  with  Juniper  and  Ar- 
bor Vitae,  at  such  a  point ;  a  hedge  here, 
curves  on  this  side,  straight  lines  on  that, 
etc.,  etc.,  —  it  is  all  reduced  to  a  system, 
and  the  results,  if  repeated  in  the  same 
town,  are  monotonous. 

We  are  bound,  having  gone  in  for  it,  to 
defend  the  natural  method.  If  the  results 
of  the  artificial  are  more  satisfactory,  the 
execution  is  not  half  the  fun. 

Can  there  be,  I  ask  you,  the  same  en- 
joyment in  sitting  down  to  watch  the 
growth  of  a  border  of  shrubs  that  some- 
body has  set  out  for  you,  that  there  is  in 
dragging  the  few  you  have  planted  your- 
self out  of  their  holes  and  transporting 
them  to  a  more  becoming  place,  as  you 
would  a  flower  on  a  bonnet  ? 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Anybody  can  put  in  a  tree  or  a  shrub 
airing.         and   let  it  alone,  but  it  takes  nerve   to 
wheel  it  about  like  a  baby  in  a  go-cart. 

We  have  neighbors  who  employ  the 
conventional  methods  with  dazzling  re- 
sults, but,  on  the  whole,  we  doubt  if  their 
vast  and  imposing  plantations  give  them 
as  much  enjoyment  as  our  more  personal 
intercourse  with  our  little  family  of  grow- 
ing things.  We  are  quite  sure  that  each 
scrubby  little  Pine  on  the  hill  is  dearer  to 
us  than  a  thicket  of  well-fed  trees  planted 
by  a  nurseryman. 

"  You  will  know  my  children,"  said  the 
Owl  to  the  Fox,  with  whom  she  had  made 
a  compact  to  spare  them,  "  by  their  being 
the -most  beautiful  little  darlings  in  the 
whole  world."  But  when  the  Fox  came 
to  the  nest  full  of  big-eyed,  long-billed, 
unfledged  frights,  he  failed  to  recognize 
the  description,  and  ate  them  all  up  un- 
der a  misapprehension.  DC  nobis  fabula. 

We  are  afraid  that  most  people  would 
pronounce  in  favor  of  the  upholstering  of 
the  professional,  rather  than  of  our  pri- 
vate efforts  at  lawn-furnishing,  but  we  can 
recommend  our  method  on  the  ground  of 
146 


Terraces  and  Shrubs 


economy,  both  of  material  and  of  amuse- 
ment,  for  there  is  no  reason  why  this  play 
should  not  go  on  forever,  like  a  Wagner 
opera.  It  has  its  surprises  too,  in  the  way 
of  some  happy  effect  that  you  had  not  im- 
agined, and  again,  you  are  horrified  at  the 
outcome  of  some  arrangement  that  seemed 
felicitous.  We  have  got  our  own  shrubs 
so  beautifully  trained  now,  that  they  do 
not  mind  moving  on  the  first  of  May,  any 
more  than  an  old  New  York  citizen.  Up 
they  come,  blossoms  and  all,  and  never 
drop  a  petal,  but  go  on  blooming  se- 
renely in  their  new  home  as  if  they  had 
always  been  there.  One  spring  we  had 
from  a  kind  friend  a  present  of  a  box  of 
rare  and  beautiful  little  shrubs,  the  very 
names  of  which  it  took  a  day  to  look  up. 
We  knew  they  were  coming,  but  not  what 
they  were  to  be,  so  a  bed  was  prepared 
for  them  within  easy  reach  of  the  hose, 
and,  when  they  came,  they  were  set  out 
carefully,  in  the  midst  of  an  April  snow- 
storm, and  a  cold  wind,  which  nipped 
their  poor  little  half-opened  leaves  most 
cruelly. 

After  they  were  all  arranged,  and  the 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

A  muddu  of  weather  had  moderated  sufficiently  for 
one  to  study  the  labels,  we  found  that  the 
arrangement  would  have  driven  a  gardener 
wild ;  future  trees,  a  hundred  feet  high,  hav- 
ing been  set  side  by  side  with  burly  little 
shrubs,  which  at  present  look  much  more 
important  than  their  (to  be)  stately  neigh- 
bors. What  with  snow  one  day,  and  burn- 
ing heat  the  next,  combined  with  steady 
dry  weather,  those  shrubs  have  had  a  strug- 
gle for  existence,  in  which  they  have  been 
sturdily  abetted  by  their  natural  protec- 
tors. The  hose  one  minute,  and  newspa- 
pers and  branches  of  trees  the  next,  were 
called  upon  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of 
Nature,  who  was  more  than  ever  capricious 
during  that  extraordinary  season,  and 
since  at  the  end  of  the  summer  they  were 
all  well  and  firmly  established,  it  shows 
what  care  will  do  to  defy  the  inclemen- 
cies of  the  weather.  After  a  year  or  two 
they  will  have  acquired  the  customs  of  the 
place  sufficiently  to  be  moved  where  they 
will  make  the  best  show,  but  before  they 
reach  their  final  resting-place  it  is  possible 
that  they  may  have  several  halts  by  the 
way.  With  a  ball  of  earth  attached  to  the 
148 


Terraces  and  Shrubs 


roots,  traveling  does  not  seem  to  hurt 
them  much,  though  no  doubt  it  retards 
their  growth  somewhat,  which  is  all  the 
better  if  they  are  to  be  kept  in  proper  pro- 
portion to  the  place,  which  is  not  adapted 
to  anything  very  gigantic. 

Of  one  thing  I  have  become  certain  in  Looking 
this  limited  experience  of  landscape-gar- 
dening, and  that  is,  that  the  pleasure  is  in 
the  doing,  in  the  vision  of  the  mind,  in  the 
ever-expanding  hope  for  the  future.    When 
the  trees  have  grown  too  large  to  move, 
and  the  shrubs  are  irrevocably  rooted,  we 
shall  surely  be  no  happier  than  now,  when 
they  are  viewed  in  a  halo  of  imagination. 
149 


XIII 
EVERGREENS  IN  SPRING 


"  Come  to  me," 

Quoth  the  Pine-tree, 
'*  I  am  the  giver  of  honor. 

My  garden  is  the  cloven  rock 

And  my  manure  the  snow ; 

And  drifting  sand-heaps  feed  my  stock, 

In  summer's  scorching  glow." 

EMERSON 

O  Hemlock  Tree  !  O  Hemlock  Tree  I 
How  faithful  are  thy  branches  ! 

Green  not  alone  in  summer  time, 
But  in  the  winter's  frost  and  rime. 

LONGFELLOW. 


XIII 

UT  the  question  arises,  will  those  Depressing 
little  trees  on  the  hill  ever  at-  $££** 
tain  a  satisfactory  growth  ?  We  Spri"g' 
have  various  opinions  on  this 
matter,  our  answer  being  more  or  less  af- 
fected by  the  season  at  which  it  is  put,  — 
we  have  a  few  ups,  and  a  good  many  more 
downs  about  it.  For  instance,  I  know  few 
things  more  depressing  than  the  sight  of 
conifers  in  May,  when  every  deciduous 
tree  is  putting  its  best  foot  foremost,  and 
giving  promise  of  a  fine  crop  of  leaves. 
The  Pines  and  Spruces  and  Firs  which 
have  gladdened  our  eyes  all  winter,  with 
their  fine  green  masses  relieved  against 
the  snow,  or  standing  up  bravely  from  the 
brown  grass  in  rich  contrast  to  the  bar- 
renness around,  now  begin  to  show  the 
sere  and  yellow  leaf.  The  March  sun 
and  winds  have  burned  and  browned  their 
tips,  the  winter  storms  have  buffeted  their 
*S3 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

branches,  and  torn  great  gaps  in  their  out- 
line. Their  new  shoots  are  all  hidden  un- 
der a  little  tight  white,  or  yellow,  or  brown 
nightcap  that  looks  dried  and  wizened,  as 
if  no  promise  of  life  lurked  underneath. 

When  the  snow  melts  sufficiently  for 
one  to  walk  abroad  among  his  plantations, 
he  views  them  with  a  feeling  akin  to  de- 
spair, so  unlikely  do  they  seem  to  recover 
themselves.  Some  branches  are  entirely 
dead,  the  tops  of  others  are  winter-killed, 
a  few  have  turned  copper-color  from  root 
to  crown,  and,  beside  the  bright  green  of 
bursting  buds  and  springing  grass,  the 
best  of  them  look  worn  and  dingy  by  con- 
trast. 

Tk*ypi*ck  Not  until  the  middle  of  May  do  they 
pluck  up  their  spirits,  pull  off  their  bon- 
nets, and  show  that  their  apparent  dead- 
ness  resulted  from  the  fact  that  they  take 
their  season  differently  from  their  gayer 
neighbors,  and  wear  their  winter  furs, 
however  rusty  and  inappropriate,  far  into 
spring,  while  all  the  others  have  come  out 
in  their  new  clothes  of  brightest  hue. 
Some  years  June  will  be  here  before  they 
condescend  to  put  out  the  green  tassels 
'54 


Evergreens  in  Spring 


which  are  their  first  adornment,  but 
through  the  month  of  roses  they  do  their 
prettiest,  and  hang  out  their  banners  with 
the  best. 

Some  of  the  authorities  recommend  the  Planting  in 
month  of  June  as  the  most  desirable  for  7 
transplanting  evergreens,  but  my  experi- 
ence would  lead  me  to  the  conclusion 
that  with  them,  as  well  as  with  hard-wood 
trees,  the  period  before  the  bursting  of 
the  buds  is  more  satisfactory  than  the 
time  when  they  have  already  begun  to 
swell.  Seasons  vary  so  decidedly  that  a 
few  warm  days  may  hasten  the  new 
shoots,  and  they  may  be  three  inches  long 
before  you  think  of  going  for  trees,  so 
that  they  droop  discouragingly  after  trans- 
planting, and  sometimes  never  brace  up 
again.  This  is  particularly  the  case  with 
Pines,  which  have  a  way  of  drooping  their 
little  brown  heads  despairingly,  and  refus- 
ing to  stiffen,  in  which  case,  if  they  can- 
not be  freely  watered,  they  are  sure  to  die. 

This   year  the  warm  days  in  April  so  Pines  need 
quickened  all  vegetable  life,  that,  when  " 
we  set   forth   in   the  middle   of  May   in 
search  of  new  trees  for  the  hill,  we  found 
155 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

to  our  surprise  that  the  green  tassels  on 
some  of  the  trees  were  as  long  as  one's 
ringer,  which  gave  us  a  pang  lest  we  were 
already  too  late  for  the  best  satisfaction. 
However,  as   there   had   been   already 

itarch  of  •  \  t  « 

some  six  weeks  of  unprecedentedly  dry 
weather,  and  signs  of  rain  were  in  the 
atmosphere,  it  seemed  that  if  there  was 
any  chance  at  all,  now  was  our  time.  We 
accordingly  arranged  for  a  morning  among 
the  Pines,  and,  accompanied  by  a  big 
farm-wagon  to  bring  them  home  in,  we 
wended  our  way  along  the  winding  coun- 
try roads,  until  we  came  to  where  the 
young  trees  abounded,  and  we  could  select 
our  specimens. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  the  stocky, 
bushy  trees  of  close,  heavy  foliage,  not 
more  than  two  or  three  feet  high,  are  the 
most  likely  to  live  and  do  well,  but  there 
are  days  when  one's  ambition  outruns 
one's  discretion,  and,  revolting  at  the  slow- 
ness of  the  growth  of  the  little  ones,  he 
desires  to  realize  his  forest  immediately, 
if  only  for  one  summer,  and  so,  like  a 
child  who  plants  his  sand-garden  with 
blooming  flowers,  ventures  on  a  load  of 

156 


Evergreens  in  Spring 


trees  five  or  six  feet  high,  in  hopes  that, 
after  making  a  brave  show  for  a  few 
months,  they  will  be  aided  by  some  happy 
freak  of  nature  to  take  root  in  earnest. 

But  planting  Pines  on  a  dry  hillside  is  A  lotttry  in 
like  investing  in  a  lottery  —  the  success  " 
of  the  enterprise  depends  wholly  on  the 
sort  of  weather  that  immediately  follows, 
and  who  can  reckon  with  that  ?  Talk  of 
the  vicissitudes  in  the  life  of  a  broker  — 
what  are  his  uncertain  and  incalculable 
quantities  compared  to  those  with  which 
the  farmer  and  gardener  have  to  deal  ?  A 
broker  can  abstain  from  buying  bonds 
and  stocks  if  he  will,  but  the  farmer  has 
to  plant  when  the  time  comes,  and  take 
his  chances,  and  for  surprises  the  weather 
can  give  points  to  Wall  Street  any  day. 
With  the  largest  experience  and  judgment 
you  can  no  more  reckon  securely  on  the 
coming  down  of  rain,  than  of  Bell  Tele- 
phone, or  Calumet  and  Hecla. 

No  sooner  are  one's  trees  planted  than 
he  becomes  a  bear  upon  the  weather  mar- 
ket, but  this  summer,  Old  Probabilities 
has  made  a  corner  with  the  bulls,  and 
kept  rain  up  persistently,  so  that  the  wisest 
157 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

calculations  have  gone  agley  ;  and  if  IV.ul 
plants,  and  Apollos  declines  to  water, 
what  then  ? 

A /ore*  To  return  to  our  expedition.  There 
was  an  easterly  tang  in  the  air,  a  smell  of 
rain  that  promised  well  for  the  morrow, 
though  in  the  shelter  of  the  trees  all 
warmth  and  sunshine,  and  bursting  buds. 
Upon  the  rocks  the  Lady's -slipper  was 
waving  its  rosy  blossoms,  tempting  us  to 
add  a  few  roots  of  it  to  our  shady  garden, 
where  it  has  thriven  well.  The  Beeches 
and  Birches  were  full  of  crumpled  leaflets, 
Anemones  were  blooming  by  the  wayside, 
the  oak-tops  were  reddened  with  the  Hush 
of  early  leaf-buds,  the  forest  was  astir. 
Along  the  fences  ran  the  busy  chipmunks, 
saucily  chattering,  with  their  bushy  tails 
trailing  behind  them.  The  wood  robins 
were  singing  in  the  thickets,  and  the 
thrushes  challenging  us  from  wayside 
bushes.  In  northern  Maine  one  hears  al- 
ways in  summer  the  tender  song  of  the 
Peabody  bird  in  such  places,  but  here  it 
occurs  but  seldom,  and  I  missed  it  from 
the  woodland  sounds,  of  which  the  air  was 
full.  The  Witch-hazel  stared  at  us  with 
158 


Evergreens  in  Spring 


its  wicked-looking  eyes,  and  the  Hemlocks 
hid  themselves  behind  the  Alders. 

When  at  last  we  came  to  the  clearing,  w»  come 
we  found  Pines  in  plenty,  but,  unfortu- 
nately,  the  soil  was  rocky,  and  the  trees 
were  hard  to  dislodge,  and  did  not  come 
up  with  as  good  a  ball  of  earth  as  in  the 
sandy  hill  where  we  had  found  them  be- 
fore ;  but  we  packed  them  well  away  in 
the  cart,  with  moss  about  their  roots,  and 
a  rubber  blanket  to  keep  off  the  sun,  and 
pretty  soon  the  wagon  was  nodding  with 
trees  four  or  five  feet  high,  closely  jammed 
together,  and  Birnam  Wood  was  on  the 
march  for  Dunsinane. 

The  hill  had  been  dug  the  day  before, 
and  some  twoscore  holes  prepared  for  the 
new-comers,  so  that  by  noon-time  those 
of  the  first  load  were  all  firmly  wedged 
into  their  beds,  to  be  staked  and  tied  later, 
to  prevent  their  rocking  with  the  wind, 
which  gives  them  at  present  quite  the  air 
of  a  paddock  of  frisky  young  colts,  care- 
fully hitched  to  prevent  their  getting  away. 

That  night  there  was  a  brisk  and  most 
encouraging  shower,  and   the   next  day, 
after  the  rest  of  the  holes  had  been  filled 
159 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

with  a  second  load  of  Pines,  there  came 
down  quite  a  respectable  rain,  so  that  we 
greatly  plumed  ourselves  upon  our  fore- 
sight in  having  got  our  trees  in  the  nick 
of  time,  just  as  the  drought  "  broke." 

But,  alas,  for  the  prescience  of  man,  and 
""'  for  our  corner  in  Pines!  We  mulched 
them  all  well  with  sea-weed,  to  keep  in 
what  moisture  we  might,  and  waited  confi- 
dently for  more  rain ;  but  no  rain  came  ! 
Two  weeks  more  of  dry  weather  ensued ; 
many  of  the  green  tassels  hung  sadly 
down,  a  cold,  dry  wind  blew,  twisting  and 
turning  them  in  every  direction,  and  mer- 
cilessly whipped  the  branches  about,  — 
giving  the  poor  things  a  cruel  foretaste  of 
what  they  are  likely  to  encounter  as  time 
goes  on.  If  the  new  trees  look  about  upon 
their  well-rooted  neighbors,  they  must  be 
struck  with  the  havoc  made  upon  them 
by  the  northwest  wind.  It  is  always  the 
northwest  side  of  a  tree  that  is  brownest 
and  thinnest,  and  which  shows  the  most 
broken  branches,  and  the  greatest  number 
of  withered,  copper-colored  spines. 

Not  until  the  last  of  May  did  the  rain 
come  down  in  earnest,  too  late  for  any 
160 


Evergreens  in  Spring 


but  the  most  healthy  of  the  Pines  to  reap 
the  benefit  of  its  invigorating  freshness, 
and  they  still  had  the  hot  summer  before 
them. 

To  show  the  importance  of  moisture  to  A  tr** 
a  Pine,  I  will  add  that  among  the  trees 
brought,  there  were  about  a  dozen  that 
had  no  ball  of  earth  attached  to  them, 
and  reached  here  with  perfectly  bare 
roots.  Knowing  it  was  useless  to  set 
them  on  the  hill  in  this  condition,  they 
were  all  planted  in  a  very  wet  place  at  the 
foot  of  it,  which  is  kept  as  a  nursery  for 
decrepit  and  rootless  trees.  If  from  any- 
where we  receive  a  tree  poorly  provided 
with  roots,  or  of  drooping  and  unhappy 
aspect,  or  if  we  bring  one  home  that 
looks  unpromising,  into  that  moist  spot  it 
goes,  and  never  a  tree  has  perished  there 
yet,  no  matter  how  forlorn  a  specimen  it 
was  when  it  went  into  the  ground.  This 
nursery  is  called  the  Tree  Hospital,  and 
we  find  a  year  in  it  is  a  cure  for  most  of 
the  ailments  that  roots  are  heir  to. 

In  this  last  experiment,  the  ten  trees 
planted  there,  though  quite  the  worst  of 
the  lot,  never  showed   a  sign   of  wilting 
161 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

through  all  the  dry  weather.  Their  tassels 
stood  up  straight  and  stiff,  of  a  clean 
bright  green,  and,  though  so  unpromising 
to  start  with,  they  will  probably  in  the  end 
leave  the  others  far  behind.  Even  the 
Hemlocks,  so  troublesome  on  the  1 
thrive  in  this  low  and  sheltered  spot,  where 
we  have  finally  sent  the  worst  of  them  for 
repairs.  I  have  been  told,  by  one  who 
knows,  that  what  the  Hemlock  cannot 
abide  is  the  March  sun.  which  does  mis- 
chief, while  the  blaze  of  summer  is  harm- 
less to  it 

I  was  shown  one  day  at  the  Arnold 
Arboretum,  near  Boston,  the  north  side 
of  a  hill,  steep  and  rocky,  but  clothed  with 
giant  Hemlocks  from  its  lofty  summit  to 
the  burbling  beck  at  its  base.  No  nobler 
sight  can  be  imagined.  I  entered  this 
forest  at  twilight,  and  I  found  it  a  temple, 
solemn  and  silent  The  majestic  trunks 
rose  from  their  rocky  base  at  wide  inter- 
vals, climbing  one  above  the  other  to  the 
crest  of  the  lofty  eminence  they  cro\\ 
Their  close-knit  branches  far  overhead 
formed  a  dense  canopy  through  which  the 
failing  light  came  dimly,  as  befits  a  tern- 
162 


Evergreens  in  Spring 


pie.  So  wild,  so  sylvan  a  spot,  within  the  NO  foreign 
limits  of  a  great  city,  can  be  found  in  no 
European  park,  however  magnificent.  It 
is  unique  and  singularly  imposing.  On 
the  southern  slope  of  that  hill  no  Hem- 
lock grows,  showing  that  what  this  noble 
tree  demands  for  full  development  is  shade 
and  coolness,  and  shelter  from  summer 
winds,  which  burn  and  blight.  That 
glimpse  of  ancient  woodland,  ages  old, 
will  always  linger  in  my  memory  as  a  link 
between  the  bustling  present  and  the  si- 
lent past.  The  busy  city  presses  around 
it,  the  hum  of  traffic  is  near.  You  step 
aside  from  the  highway,  pass  a  gate,  cross 
a  tiny  brook  that  tumbles  as  carelessly  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  as  if  it  were  racing 
through  the  wilds  of  Colorado,  and  you 
enter  a  domain  apparently  as  remote,  ven- 
erable, and  silent  as  when  the  Indian  was 
the  sole  occupant  of  Shawmut  and  found 
his  way  through  the  trackless  forest  to  his 
hunting-grounds.  A  little  path  worn  by 
the  foot  strays  along  beside  the  laughing 
stream ;  other  paths  may  lead  over  the 
hill,  but  in  the  dimness  I  failed  to  see 
them,  and  the  solitude  seemed  unbroken. 

163 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 


The  fore  tt 
cUdusk. 


TluDirtc- 
ter  look* 


Night  was  falling,  the  air  was  chill,  the 
murmur  of  the  leaves  far  above  was  barely 
audible  ;  the  impression  was  indescribably 
solemn  and  church-like,  as  if  the  aisles  of 
some  great  cathedral  were  there  stretch- 
ing away  into  the  shadowy  distance,  full 
of  mystery. 

Stately  and  strong  the  old  trees  stood, 
as  if  they  might  be  as  eternal  as  the  rocks 
and  hill,  and  beautiful  they  were  in  their 
silent  majesty,  uplifting  their  venerable 
heads  to  the  gray  evening  sky  which  had 
domed  over  them  for  centuries. 

On  an  opposite  hill  a  grove  of  young 
evergreens  was  springing  up. 

"That,  too,  will  be  fine  in  a  hundred 
years,"  said  the  Director,  as  we  passed  out 
of  the  great  gate  ;  and,  with  a  thought  of 
my  baby  forest  at  home  which,  perhaps, 
in  a  century  or  two,  may  be  worth  while, 
I  went  away  grave  but  rejoicing,  for  I  had 
seen  a  noble  sight. 

164 


XIV 

THE  LOVE   OF  FLOWERS  IN 
AMERICA 


Fables  were  not  more 
Bright,  nor  loved  of  yore  ; 

Yet  they  grew  not,  like  the  flowers,  by  every  old 
pathway. 

LEIGH  HUNT. 


XIV 

JHILE  we  and  our  neighbors  are 
doing  our  best  to  stock  our  stattmtnt- 
grounds  with  ornamental  shrubs 
and  blossoms,  it  is  discouraging 
to  be  told  by  some  of  our  periodicals, 
which  are  probably  edited  by  gentlemen 
who  live  chiefly  in  towns,  that  Americans 
do  not  love  flowers,  because  they  are 
used  among  the  rich  and  fashionable  in 
reckless  profusion,  for  display  rather  than 
enjoyment  It  is  also  claimed  that  we  are 
not  a  flower-loving  people,  because  we 
accept  botanical  appellations  for  our  indi- 
genous plants,  instead  of  giving  them  sim- 
ple, homely  names  like  the  charming  ones 
with  which  familiar  flowers  have  been 
christened  in  older  countries. 

To  this  may  be  answered,  that  what  os- 
tentatious dwellers  in  towns  are  guilty  of  is 
by  no  means  to  be  accepted  as  a  national 
trait.     The  place  to  study  the  characteris- 
167 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 
fr*  tics  of  a  people  is  not  among  the  very 

England  .    ,       . 

town,  rich,  but  among  those  in  moderate  cir- 
cumstances, who  make  up  the  bulk  of 
the  inhabitants  ;  those  who  occupy  its 
longer  settled  regions,  and  best  represent 
its  individual  and  continuous  modes  of 
thought.  And  when  I  see  how  little  these 
idle  talkers  know  about  what  country  peo- 
ple feel  and  think,  I  wish  that  our  urban 
critics  could  walk  though  this  ancient 
town,  and  be  introduced  to  its  flower 
lovers,  and  get  a  glimpse  of  its  interesting 
gardens,  before  they  make  up  their  minds 
so  positively  about  the  tendencies  of  our 
A  ust  9j  people.  Here  can  be  found  the  American 
££££?  race  at  its  best,  unadulterated  by  for 

admixture,  or  perverted  from  its  instincts 
by  the  pressure  of  conventions ;  a  people 
that  has  lived  on  the  soil  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  and  has  had  time  to  de- 
velop its  characteristics,  —  a  much  b 
test  to  judge  by  than  the  floating  popula- 
tion of  newer  towns  farther  west 

Whoever  has  driven  through  New  Eng- 
land or  the  older  middle  States,  cannot 
doubt  that  there,  at  least,  the  people  truly 
love  their  gardens,  and  the  house  plants 
1 68 


The  Love  of  Flowers  in  America 

with  which  their  windows,  in  winter,  are 
stocked.  Even  the  humblest  dwelling  has 
its  row  of  flower  pots,  or  tin  cans,  well 
filled  with  slips  of  Geranium,  or  other 
bright  flowers ;  and  the  hours  spent  over 
their  gardens  by  gentlewomen  who  can- 
not afford  a  gardener,  are  the  best  proof 
that  the  affection  they  have  for  them  is  a 
real  and  ardent  one.  I  have  known  many 
a  house  mother,  burdened  with  domestic 
cares,  to  rise  before  day  to  snatch  an  hour 
for  weeding  or  watering  her  little  border, 
that  its  fragrant  contents  might  be  of  avail 
for  a  friendly  gift,  or  an  adornment  for 
her  own  table.  It  is  the  rarest  thing,  in  a 
New  England  village,  to  enter  a  room  in 
summer  and  find  no  flowers  disposed  about 
it ;  and  in  the  winter  the  eager  question, 
"  How  are  your  plants  prospering  ?  "  often 
comes  before  the  conventional  inquiries 
after  the  health  of  the  members  of  the 
household.  New  varieties  are  discussed 
and  exchanged ;  there  are  rare  Chrysan- 
themums to  talk  about  in  autumn,  and 
choice  Tulips  and  Hyacinths  to  be  com- 
plimented in  the  spring,  and  each  one 
knows  what  her  neighbor's  garden  is  most 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

famous  for,  and  who  is  the  most  success- 
ful in  her  general  management  of  her  pets. 
Many  women  are  experienced  botanists 
in  their  own  locality,  and  can  tell  where 
every  wild  flower  of  the  region  is  to  be 
found.  They  rejoice,  too,  in  the  discov- 
ery of  a  new  weed  with  as  much  enthusi- 
asm as  an  astronomer  shows  over  a  fresh 
comet.  Most  of  the  men  who  live  in  the 
country  are  too  busy  to  give  much  time  to 
flower-gardens,  but  they  show  great  inter- 
est and  pride  in  those  so  carefully  tended 
by  their  wives  and  daughters,  and  are  ready 
enough  to  lend  a  helping  hand,  even  though 
they  may  pretend  to  begrudge  the  space 
taken  from  grass  or  vegetables,  for  what 
they  think  it  their  duty  to  call  an  idle 
diversion.  But  given  a  retired  merchant 
with  not  much  to  occupy  his  mind,  and  the 
chances  are  that  he  will  soon  be  wearing 
himself  out  in  loving  labor  among  his 
Rhododendrons  and  Roses,  taking  pride 
in  having  the  earliest  and  largest  blossoms 
in  his  parterre,  and  conferring  in  a  friendly 
way  over  the  fence  with  his  neighbors,  who 
stop  to  consult  with  him  on  the  best  way 
of  dealing  with  insect  pests.  Of  course, 
170 


The  Love  of  Flowers  in  America 

in  the  remoter  West,  life  is  too  strenuous 
to  leave  much  space  for  flower-gardening. 
Flowers  are  often  seen  growing  in  a  little 
inclosure  on  a  frontier  sheep-ranch,  which 
cost  not  only  labor  but  self-denial,  and  yet 
they  are  hardly  seen  once  a  year  by  any 
save  their  owner.  The  care  which  it  cost 
the  mothers  and  daughters  among  the 
early  emigrants  to  transport  seeds,  and 
slips,  and  roots  of  the  old  home  flowers 
from  New  England,  to  brighten  new  homes 
in  the  West,  has  often  been  described, 
and  the  love  with  which  these  flowers  are 
cherished  by  their  descendants  is  well 
known. 

It  is  to  these  people  we  must  look  to 
discover  whether  the  love  of  flowers  and 
gardening  is  implanted  in  a  people,  not  to 
the  wasteful  and  luxurious  dweller  in  the 
town,  who  only  uses  flowers  as  a  pretext 
for  wanton  expense.  It  should  not  be 
forgotten  that  aside  from  this  extrava- 
gance, which  may  show  itself  in  the  pur- 
chase of  flowers,  as  in  the  purchase  of 
other  luxuries,  simply  because  they  may 
be  rare  and  costly,  great  numbers  of  peo- 
ple in  the  city  buy  flowers  habitually 
'7' 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

because  they  love  their  beauty  and  fra- 
grance. 

Tk*  common  As  to  the  nomenclature  there  is  this  to 
be  said  :  In  older  countries  the  people  and 
the  flowers  lived  together  long  before  the 
botanist  appeared,  while  here  the  bota- 
nists came  with  the  early  settlers  to  an 
unexplored  field,  found  the  new  flov 
and  named  them  before  the  people  had 
become  familiarly  acquainted  with  them. 
The  State  flower  of  California  was  intro- 
duced to  the  children  of  that  common- 
wealth as  the  Eschscholtzia  before  they 
could  spell  it,  but  this  does  not  prove 
any  lack  of  love  or  admiration  for  it  on 
their  part  They  have  a  pet  name  for  the 
flower,  too ;  and  in  all  the  older  settled 
parts  of  the  country,  wherever  a  plant  or 
flower  is  so  abundant,  or  useful,  or  obtru- 
sive that  there  is  need  to  speak  of  it,  a 
name  is  found  at  once.  The  children  of 
New  England  call  the  wild  Columbine 
Meeting-houses,  from  their  shape,  no 
doubt,  and  with  them  Viola  pedata  is  the 
Horse  Violet,  perhaps  from  its  long  face. 
The  Houstonia,  which  is  Bluets  in  some 
places,  is  Innocence  in  others.  In  north- 
172 


Tbe  Love  of  Flowers  in  America 

ern  New  Jersey,  the  Marsh  Marigold  of 
other  regions  (Caltha  palustris)  is  invaria- 
bly a  Cowslip.  Some  children,  gathering  Ptt  **»**$ 
Dogtooth  Violets  by  the  handful  within  {£" £ 
sight  of  Trinity  Church  spire,  when  asked  et 
the  name  of  the  flowers,  expressed  much 
surprise  that  the  inquirer  had  never  heard 
of  Yellow-bells.  Even  Shortia,  which  hid 
away  from  botanists  for  a  hundred  years, 
had  a  name  which  was  common  enough 
to  answer  every  purpose,  and  the  man 
who  first  discovered  it  in  any  quantity 
was  told  by  the  dwellers  in  the  mountain 
hamlet,  where  it  was  spreading  over  acres, 
that  it  was  nothing  but  Little  Coltsfoot 
Even  where  botanical  names  have  not 
been  adopted  outright  as  common  ones, 
they  have  often  been  changed,  just  as 
Pyxidanthera  has  become  Pyxie  to  all  the 
dwellers  among  the  New  Jersey  Pines. 
There  are  plenty  of  common  names  in 
every  locality  which  have  never  found 
their  way  into  the  botanies. 

American  women  wear  flowers  for  adorn- 
ment more  generally  than  the  women  of 
any  other  country.     This  of  itself  is  proof 
of  the  genuineness  of  their  love  for  flow- 
173 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

ers.  It  is  absurd  to  imagine  that  a  custom 
so  universal  is  based  on  any  sham  or  pass- 
ing fashion.  The  desire  for  display  is 
prevalent  enough,  beyond  question,  but  if 
any  one  doubts  whether  the  admiration 
for  flowers  is  an  acquired  taste  —  because 
it  is  fashionable  to  wear  them  —  let  him 
carry  a  handful  of  them  through  a  city 
street  among  groups  of  children,  where 
unsophisticated  nature  will  find  expres- 
sion. The  keen  delight  of  these  little 
ones,  who  will  always  accept  such  a 
shows  that  the  affection  for  flowers  is  an 
original  instinct,  which  is  as  strong  in  this 
country  as  it  is  anywhere.  Fashionable 
freaks  and  follies  pass  away,  and  flowers 
would  have  their  brief  day  like  any  other 
craze,  if  the  regard  for  them  was  artifi- 
cial or  fictitious.  The  flower-dealers  of 
the  country  need  have  no  apprehension 
as  to  the  future  of  their  industry.  It  is 
based  on  one  of  the  elementary  wants  of 
our  nature.  Flowers  will  be  loved  until 
the  constitution  of  the  human  mind  is 
radically  changed 

To  those  writers  who  maintain,  quoting 
Miss  Wilkins's  stories  to  prove  it,  that 
'74 


The  Love  of  Flowers  in  America 

"flowers  are  an  accident,  not  a  daily  in- 
terest,  in  village  life  "  in  New  England, 
I  would  say  that  he  who  takes  this  ground 
can  scarcely  be  familiar  with  the  old  coun- 
try towns  of  that  section  to  which  one 
must  look  for  the  typical  aspects  of  New 
England  life.  Like  all  the  sentiments  of 
its  people,  the  love  of  flowers  is  there,  not 
paraded,  but  profoundly  cherished  ;  and 
if  there  is  no  gaudy  display  in  the  door- 
yard,  there  is  sure  to  be  found  a  corner 
behind  the  house,  easily  accessible  to  the 
kitchen,  where  old-fashioned  plants  bloom 
gayly,  and  are  cherished  often  from  some 
tender  association  with  the  past.  Any 
country  doctor  in  one  of  the  older  New 
England  villages  can  tell  these  critics  that 
there  are  almost  no  houses  so  homely, 
but  that  he  finds  in  them,  in*  winter,  a  few 
plants  in  the  window,  and  in  summer  some 
bright  flowers  in  a  tiny  garden,  cultivated 
and  watered  often  by  feeble  and  tired 
hands.  Hard  and  dreary  as  are  many  of 
the  poor  little  lives  of  New  England  vil- 
lagers, this  one  touch  of  color  and  per- 
fume is  there  almost  invariably,  to  show 
that  the  thirst  for  beauty  is  unquenched. 
175 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

New  EHS~  If,  with  its  ungrateful  soil  and  torment- 
ing climate,  New  England  cannot  rival 

^^  Old  England  in  the  gay  surroundings  of 
its  cottage  doors,  the  same  love  of  flowers 
is  there,  finding  such  expression  as  it  may, 
under  the  cruel  conditions  of  a  sterile 
earth,  and  burning  summer  heats  and  dry- 
ness,  alternated  with  sharp  east  winds, 
which  make  a  labor  as  well  as  a  pleasure 
of  a  garden. 


XV 
THE  ROSE-CHAFER 


All  the  fields  which  thou  dost  see, 
All  the  plants,  belong  to  thee ; 
All  the  summer  hours  produce, 
Fertile  made  with  early  juice. 
Man  for  thee  doth  sow  and  plow, 
Farmer  he,  and  landlord  thou  ! 

ANACREON. 


XV 

UT  however  much  we  New  Eng 

5     visitors 

landers  may  love  flowers,  there  tread  u^on 


are  drawbacks  to  their  cultiva-  & 
tion  in  the  pests  that  beset 
them.  Each  plant  has  its  enemy,  and 
there  is  no  interim  between  our  summer 
visitors.  No  sooner  is  the  trunk  of  the 
last  caterpillar  packed  than  the  rose-bug 
arrives,  bag  and  baggage,  to  take  his  place. 
The  half  -eaten  leaves  that  have  been  res- 
cued from  the  jaws  of  the  web-worm  are 
in  a  few  hours  riddled  with  the  bites  of 
these  winged  pests,  which  are  even  harder 
to  destroy  than  their  predecessors,  for 
they  hunt  in  couples  and  fly,  and  cannot 
be  stamped  out  of  existence. 

An  imperturbable  imp  is  the  rose- 
chafer,  descendant  on  one  side  from  the 
scarabaeus  ;  and  if  his  Egyptian  ancestor 
was  half  as  hard  to  kill  as  this  other  flying 
beetle,  no  wonder  the  ancients  used  him 
as  an  emblem  of  immortality. 
179 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

That  horrid  This  voracious  summer  boarder  arrives 
with  unpleasant  punctuality  upon  the 
tenth  of  June,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  ad- 
vance-guard of  the  great  army  shows  it- 
self in  the  shape  of  a  scout  or  two,  who 
merely  precede  the  main  swarm,  which 
comes  in  a  cloud,  and  settles  everywhere, 
and  stays  nearly  four  weeks. 

The  opening  roses  are  their  nominal 
prey,  and  are  soon  disfigured  with  their 
dingy  yellow-brown  carcasses ;  but  that  is 
not  the  worst  of  them.  Grape  blossoms 
are  their  dear  delight,  and  nothing  but  the 
most  unremitting  attention  will  save  the 
future  bunches  from  their  greedy  depreda- 
tions. There  are  at  least  two  to  every  ra- 
ceme of  fragrant  blossoms,  and  by  the 
time  one  has  disposed  of  that  pair,  another 
is  flying  about  all  ready  to  take  their 
places. 

Arsenical  poisons  have  no  more  effect 
upon  them  than  a  cold  shoulder  on  an  of- 
fice-seeker. They  may  kill  the  plant,  but 
never  the  rose-bug,  which  will  crawl  un- 
dismayed over  its  ruins,  seeking  new 
worlds  to  conquer.  Having  no  delicate 
sensibilities,  they  are  undeterred  by  whale- 
180 


The  Rose-Cbafer 


oil  soap,  which  disheartens  most  things,  Thty  enjoy 
and  even  a  dusting  with  hellebore  does  ™<>ap?  ° 
not  even  make  them  sneeze.  The  great 
unterrified  eat  on,  in  spite  of  all  you  can 
do  to  them,  and  no  sooner  is  one  set  slain 
than  you  find  another  in  its  place.  They 
remind  one  of  the  Jesuit  monks  in  Bolivia, 
whom  the  inhabitants  finally  regarded  as 
supernatural  beings,  because,  no  matter 
how  often  one  cowled  and  sandaled  form 
was  laid  low,  another  succeeded  it,  till  the 
natives  came  to  believe  that  the  friar  was 
an  immortal,  whom  they  vainly  sought  to 
destroy. 

As  to  the  rose-bug,  hand-picking  into  a 
bowl  of  kerosene  or  hot  water,  begun  at  resource. 
morn,  continued  till  noon,  and  not  inter- 
mitted till  dewy  eve,  is  the  safest  resource 
against  the  marauders,  which  devour  not 
only  Grape  blossoms  and  Roses,  Spiraeas 
and  Syringas,  Peonies  and  Snowballs,  but 
cover  Birches,  Oaks,  Elms,  and  even  Wil- 
lows with  their  ugly  little  forms,  and 
leave  behind  them  a  lacework  of  veins  in 
place  of  leaves. 

Nothing  pleases  them  better  than   a 
Smoke  bush  in  blossom,  the  future  fringe 
181 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

of  which  they  will  completely  destroy  in 
a  few  hours.  We  tried  the  experiment 
this  year  of  tying  ours  up  in  mosquito-net- 
ting, but  it  seemed  to  accomplish  nothing 
better  than  the  excitement  of  the  curiosity 
of  passers-by,  who  could  not  make  out 
whether  it  was  a  ghost  on  the  lawn,  or  a 
balloon  waiting  for  a  Fourth  of  July  infla- 
tion. The  indomitable  chafers  perched 
on  the  outside  by  the  hundred,  and  chewed 
at  the  blossoms  through  the  meshes,  so 
that,  what  with  their  attacks  and  the 
confinement,  the  smoke  came  to  nothing 
after  all,  for  when  the  cover  was  removed 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  the  fringe  but 
a  few  bare  green  stems. 

Probably  the  rose-bugs  do  not  publish 
a  -  a  morning  paper,  or  they  would  learn  that 
the  lawn  at  Overlea  is  an  unhealthy  situa- 
tion for  their  race,  and  that  their  unprece- 
dented mortality  in  that  region  ought  to 
be  a  warning  to  them.  Certainly  in  the 
height  of  the  season  the  hecatomb  of  vic- 
tims amounts  to  a  thousand  a  day,  but 
the  cry  is  still,  They  come. 

We  hoped  that  the  long,  cold,  easterly 
storm  of  June  would  prove  a  discourage- 
182 


The  Rose-Chafer 


ment  to  them,  but  the  minute  it  stopped  They  prefer 
raining  they  reappeared,  more  numerous  ° 
and  hearty  than  ever,  and  made  up  nobly 
for  lost  time.  They  show  a  curious  pref- 
erence for  old-fashioned  Roses,  and  will 
devour  them,  leaving  a  bed  of  hybrids  of 
modern  varieties  almost  untouched,  and 
they  never  are  found  here  on  the  Tea 
Roses.  They  will  eat  the  hardy  Hy- 
drangea voraciously,  but  do  not  affect  the 
Weigelia.  They  spoil  the  Snowballs,  but 
do  not  meddle  with  Lilacs.  We  have 
some  young  Canoe  Birches  that  are  strug- 
gling for  existence,  and  I  always  imagine 
the  departing  caterpillar  exchanging  com- 
pliments with  the  arriving  rose-bug,  and 
recommending  them  to  his  particular  at- 
tention, after  the  fashion  of  guzzling  Jack 
and  gorging  Jimmy  :  — 

Here 's  little  Billee,  he  's  young  and  tender, 
They  're  old  and  tough,  so  let 's  eat  he, 

Positively,  if,  during  three  or  four  weeks  Th«y  de 
of  their  stay,  those  insects  were  not  fought 
tooth  and  nail,  there  would  not  be  one 
leaf  left  upon  those  unhappy  little  trees. 
As  it  is,  when  the  brutes  depart,  the 
183 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Birches  look  like  a  design   in   skeleton 
leaves. 

This  year  our  hopes  were  roused  by  a 
remedy  called  sludgite,  which  was  war- 
ranted to  kill,  not  only  the  rose-bug,  but 
the  Colorado  beetle  and  all  other  insects 
fatal  to  vegetation.  Though  scoffed  at 
by  incredulous  friends,  we  dared  to  send 
for  a  can  of  this  evil-smelling  mixture,  and 
applied  it  to  the  creature,  with  whom  it 
undoubtedly  disagrees.  It  is  made  of  the 
residue  of  petroleum  and  soap,  and  smells 
to  heaven,  but,  alas!  the  rose -bug  has 
no  nose,  —  at  least  no  nose  that  takes 
offense  at  bad  odors.  Sludgite  is  a  thick, 
semi-solid  substance  that  mingles  readily 
with  water  and  is  applied  by  a  spraying 
pump  or  a  hand  syringe,  and  kills  by  con- 
tact. The  rose-bug  and  the  Colorado 
beetle  keel  over  with  all  their  heels  in  the 
air  as  soon  as  the  gummy  fluid  comes  in 
contact  with  their  wing  coverings,  but, 
curiously  enough,  it  seems  to  have  no 
power  to  destroy  the  larva  of  the  potato- 
bug,  and,  not  being  a  poison,  it  seems  to 
have  no  deterring  effect  upon  the  little 
worm  that  eats  the  leaves  of  Rose  bushes, 


Rose-Chafer 


or  even  upon  the  thrip,  which  whale-oil 
soap  banishes  for  a  long  time.  Therefore, 
I  judge  that  the  mixture  clogs  the  wings, 
and  interferes  with  the  breathing  of  beetles, 
or,  possibly,  whatever  virtue  it  possesses 
lies  in  the  volatile  essence  which  escapes 
from  it,  for  the  fresh  mixture  is  much 
more  deadly  than  that  which  has  stood 
for  some  time. 

But  the  sad  thing  about  its  use  is,  that  ft*  *-<>**- 

bug  draws 

the  rose-bug  is  a  being  that  draws  no  no  moral. 
moral  from  any  tale,  and  he  is  totally  de- 
void of  sentiment.  I  cannot  find  that  the 
corpses  of  his  relations  take  away  from 
his  appetite  in  the  least.  Possibly  the 
numerous  attendants  we  see  at  the  fune- 
ral come  for  a  wake,  and  they  are  full  as 
hungry  and  thirsty  as  Conn  the  Shaugh- 
raun's  cousins,  on  the  same  melancholy 
occasion. 

Though  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  the 
chafers  may  not  be  quite  so  ready  to  at- 
tack a  bush  or  tree  freshly  anointed  with 
the  unsavory  fluid,  I  am  not  sure  but  that 
the  wish  is  father  to  the  thought.  In  any 
case,  it  is  not  practicable  to  shower  a  bush 
every  five  minutes  with  anything,  however 

•85 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

deadly,  so  that  it  is  almost  as  discourag- 
ing as  hand-picking. 

A  distinguished  horticultural  authority, 
who  takes  very  little  stock  in  my  new  dis- 
coveries, declares  that  muscle  is  worth 
more  than  faith,  and  shows  me  perfect 
roses,  as  large  as  his  fist,  to  prove  it. 
This  is  all  very  well  if  you  are  lucky 
enough  to  have  unlimited  muscle  at  your 
command,  as  in  an  arboretum  for  instance, 
where  every  rose-bug  has  a  man  to  catch 
him,  but  both  hand-picking  and  insecti- 
cides are  alike  failures  in  a  private  family 
with  one  factotum.  What  the  world  de- 
mands is  a  warning  of  some  kind  that  the 
chafer  who  runs  may  read,  a  something  to 
convey  to  his  insect-mind  or  nostrils  the 
information  that  "  no  rose-bug  need  ap- 
ply," and  whoso  can  make  this  discovery 
palpable  to  the  enemy  will  have  his  for- 
tune in  his  red  right  hand. 

The  legends  connected  with  the  rose- 
bug  are  numerous.  They  tell  us  that  he 
will  not  molest  a  Grapevine  or  a  Rose 
bush  close  against  a  house,  though  he  will 
devour  the  Virginia  -  creeper  against  the 
lattice  of  your  veranda.  He  is  supposed 
1 86 


The  Rose-Cbafer 


to  object  to  the  dust  of  the  road  and  to  a 
sprinkling  of  coal-ashes  ;  but  on  our  own 
windy  hill  neither  of  these  deterrents  can 
be  made  to  stick. 

Another  legend  belongs  to  the  potato-  ^  i*ge*d. 
beetle,  which  some  of  the  farmers  in  this 
neighborhood  vow  will  not  trouble  pota- 
toes planted  in  a  hill  with  beans ;  but 
this  is  merely  a  legend.  We  have  tried  it, 
and  find  the  creatures  as  lively  as  ever. 

To  return  to  sludgite,  I  would  say  that 
its  highest  practical  use  is  upon  trees  and 
shrubs  without  blossoms,  for  the  sticky  yel- 
low fluid  cannot  be  sprinkled  upon  roses 
without  spoiling  their  fairness.  So  far  it 
does  not  seem  to  damage  foliage,  but  we 
cannot  answer  for  the  effect  of  such  a  vis- 
cid decoction  if  used  many  times  a  day. 
We  have  never  tried  it  more  than  twice  in 
twenty-four  hours.  It  kills  or  drives  away 
the  insects  that  are  there,  but  others  ap- 
pear immediately,  so  that  such  insecticides 
are  little  better  than  substitutes  for  hand- 
picking. 

Our  struggles  with  the  hated  rose-bug, 
and  the  hopeless  nature  of  any  prolonged 
encounter  with  an  inferior  organism  of 

.87 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

overwhelming  numbers,  find  such  clear 
expression  in  the  words  of  a  correspon- 
dent, that  I  subjoin  an  extract  from  a  let- 
ter of  a  lady  who  has  had  similar  suffer- 
ings with  another  insect :  — 

"I  am  passing  through  the  discourag- 
ing season  of  gardening,  and  am  realizing 
more  than  ever  the  nature  of  Adam's  curse. 
It  sounds  like  a  fine  thing  to  be  told  we 
shall  have  dominion  over  the  birds  of  the 
air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field,  but  what 
gain  is  there  in  that  if  we  are  to  be  beaten 
in  the  end  by  the  angle-worm,  the  ant,  and 
the  snail  ?  To  fight  with  a  snail,  and  be 
beaten,  is  n't  that  humilation  ?  But  I  stand 
in  the  place  of  the  vanquished,  and  it  is 
the  snail  that  has  done  it.  I  was  born 
a  sentimentalist,  and  had  scruples  about 
'  taking  away  the  life  thou  canst  not  give/ 
that  once  hindered  my  career  as  a  gar- 
dener. Now  I  grieve  over  the  imperfect 
nature  of  the  snail's  nervous  system  that 
makes  even  death  apparently  painless. 

"  But  he  keeps  up  with  the  times,  does 

the  snail ;  he  reads  the  seed  catalogues, 

and  he  knows  that  Asters  cost  more  than 

Marigolds ;  he  has  an  eye  for  beauty,  too  ; 

188 


The  Rose-Cbafer 


he  knows  a  foliage  plant  very  early  in  its 
career,  and  his  taste  is  always  for  red 
rather  than  green. 

"  The  snail  is  a  much  underrated  power ;  rtu  mail** 
his  calmness,  his  persistence,  his  retiring  tatdfrrated 


nature,  his  thick-skinned  endurance,  make 
him  a  type  that  is  bound  to  survive,  and  I 
predict  for  him  a  glorious  future.  If  he 
can  only  find  enough  fools  to  cultivate 
gardens  for  his  use  he  will  enter  in  and 
possess  the  land,  and  develop  into  some- 
thing quite  grand."  All  of  which  quota- 
tion, with  slight  variation,  will  answer  for 
our  winged  pest. 

I  was  quite  touched  by  the  prediction 
of  a  member  of  the  horticultural  society  55S 
of  that  State,  that  apparently  the  whole  of 
southern  New  Jersey  will  have  to  be  aban- 
doned to  the  rose-bug.  This  adds  a  new 
terror  to  the  already  complicated  legisla- 
tion of  that  unhappy  region,  for  I  am  con- 
vinced, from  my  experience,  that  if  the 
rose-bug  wants  anything  he  will  get  it,  and 
no  doubt  we  shall  live  to  see  him  sitting 
in  the  gubernatorial  chair. 
189 


XVI 
SUFFERINGS  FROM  DROUGHT 


In  heat  the  landscape  quivering  lies ; 

The  cattle  pant  beneath  the  tree ; 
Through  parching  air  and  purple  skies, 

The  earth  looks  up  in  vain  for  thee. 
For  thee,  for  thee  it  looks  in  vain, 

O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain ! 

W.  C.  BENNETT. 


XVI 

[JOR  are    the  insects    the    only 
plagues  which  menace  our  cher- 
ished gardens,  and  our  carefully 
planted   wood-lots ;    there    are 
weather  conditions  that  no  vigilance  can 
elude,  which  add  tremendously  to  the  dif- 
ficulties of  the  planter  of  flower  or  tree. 
On  the  south  shore  of   Massachusetts 

.  tveathtr  OH 

Bay  almost  every  summer  sees  a  long  thts<mtk 
period  of  rainless  weather.  The  thunder- 
storms that  gather  portentously  after  hot 
days,  are  apt  to  drift  away  to  the  north, 
with  only  the  tiniest  sprinkling  of  our  dusty 
roads  and  parched  fields,  to  pour  their 
wealth  upon  the  crags  of  Swampscott  and 
Lynn,  Beverly  and  Marblehead.  With 
jealous  eyes  we  watch  the  rain  descending 
upon  our  opposite  neighbors  of  the  North 
Shore,  while  we  continue  to  dry  up  for 
want  of  it. 

This  period  of  dry  weather  usually  be- 
193 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 
gins  about  the  last  of  June  and  continues 

titntal season.         n    •    A  i  •    »      •  i-         M 

well  into  August,  which  is  ordinarily  wet 
and  muggy,  but  the  spring  and  summer  of 
1891  seemed  disposed  to  defy  precedent. 
April,  which  from  time  immemorial  has 
been  depended  on  for  showers,  this  year 
completely  spoiled  its  record,  and  only 
gave  us  an  inch  and  a  fraction  of  rain. 
This  was  followed  by  a  dry,  cold  May,  and 
then  came  the  first  half  of  June  without 
a  drop,  culminating  in  two  days  the  like  of 
which  we  seldom  see,  the  mercury  touch- 
ing ninety -seven  degrees  in  the  shade. 
Then,  at  last,  down  came  the  floods  with 
a  rush,  and  refreshed  the  parched  and 
thirsty  earth  for  days,  the  first  continued 
rain-storm  for  three  months,  sorely  needed 
by  the  suffering  hay-crop  and  the  dwin- 
dling trees. 

During  drought  in  this  region,  where  the 
soil  is  light  and  sandy,  the  care  of  lawns 
and  gardens  has  to  be  incessant.  Fortu- 
nately our  old  town  has  a  fine  supply  of 
aqueduct  water  brought  from  a  nearly 
inexhaustible  pond  within  its  limits,  and 
the  hose  can  be  brought  to  bear  with 
effect  upon  the  worst  places ;  but  this, 
194 


Sufferings  from  Drought 


like  other  restoratives,  must  be  used  with 

. 

moderation.  Too  much  water  cakes  the  inf 
soil  and  draws  the  roots  to  the  surface,  so 
that,  once  begun,  it  must  be  continued  or 
the  plants  die.  It  is  better,  we  find,  to 
water  heavily  two  or  three  times  a  week 
than  to  keep  up  a  continued  sprinkling. 
If  the  water  plays  upon  trees  and  shrubs 
during  hot  sunshine,  the  leaves  are  apt  to 
scorch  and  shrivel,  and  the  same  is  true 
of  vegetables,  which  are  well  known  to 
resent  being  watered  on  a  hot  day. 

At  Overlea  the  garden,  which  lies  low 
along  the  edges  of  the  meadow,  can  get 
along  very  fairly  without  watering.  Even 
this  year  the  strawberry  crop,  which  is 
very  sensitive  to  a  lack  of  moisture,  did 
not  suffer  from  the  dry  weather,  possibly 
owing  to  heavy  mulching  with  straw  while 
the  ground  was  moist  from  showers.  The 
worst  of  droughts  in  June  is  never  so  bad 
as  the  same  dryness  in  July,  for  plants, 
which  are  then  in  fullest  vigor,  can  better 
bear  the  strain  upon  their  constitutions  at 
that  time ;  it  gives  them  a  set-back,  how- 
ever, which  prevents  a  vigorous  growth. 
Grass  is  the  greatest  sufferer,  and  the  first 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

hay-crop  is  often  ruined  by  lack  of  rain, 
as  was  the  case  this  year  in  our  neighbor- 
hood. 

Upon  the  sandy  knoll  where  our  house 
tt  in  is  situated,  and  especially  along  the  street, 
in  places  only  accessible  to  a  very  long 
hose,  the  trees  and  turf  suffered  greatly, 
and  the  sudden  drop  of  fifty  degrees  of 
temperature,  at  the  end  of  the  period  of 
drought,  had  a  most  disastrous  effect  upon 
the  leaves,  which  shriveled  and  curled  and 
turned  red,  and  dropped  off  in  many  in- 
stances. A  vigorous  young  Catalpa  on 
our  lawn,  which,  after  the  cautious  man- 
ner of  its  kind,  only  ventured  to  put  on  its 
spring  gown  after  the  first  of  June,  and 
then  undertook  to  blossom  freely,  was  so 
distressed  by  the  changes  of  the  weather, 
that  after  the  storm  we  found  at  least  two 
bushels  of  leaves  strewing  the  ground  be- 
neath it,  and  many  others  in  such  a  con- 
dition that  the  lightest  touch  would  detach 
them.  Enough  remained,  however,  to  pro- 
tect the  blossoms,  which  are  wonderful 
productions  for  a  tree  to  bear.  If  each 
one  grew  in  a  garden  on  a  single  slender 
stem  one  would  value  it  for  its  exquisite 
196 


Sufferings  from  Drought 


painted  beauty,  and  delicate  perfume ; 
and  to  find  a  great  spike  of  them  deco- 
rating a  burly  tree  is  a  constant  source  of 
astonishment  at  the  prodigality  of  Nature. 
It  is  like  the  appearance  of  a  fine  gentle- 
man of  the  last  century  in  a  ruffled  shirt 
and  diamond  shoe  -  buckles,  among  the 
more  plainly  coated  fin  dt  s&clc  beaux  of 
our  own  day. 

I  have  a  great  admiration  for  a  Catalpa ;  rtu  parrot 

•       •  .    .  •         •  •     and  the  Co* 

its  huge  vivid  green  leaves  give  it  a  semi- 
tropical  air,  and  its  sensitiveness  to  cold 
and  storm  shows  that  it  comes  naturally 
from  a  warmer  clime  than  ours.  I  try  to 
console  it  for  its  exile  by  lending  it  in  sum- 
mer-time our  Amazon  parrot  for  a  com- 
panion,  and  there  is  no  prettier  sight  than 
the  vision  of  this  lovely  green  bird,  of  ex- 
actly the  shades  of  the  sunlight  and  shadow 
on  the  Catalpa  leaves,  pluming  himself  un- 
tethered  upon  the  inner  branches,  only 
caged  by  the  dome  of  the  great  boughs 
with  their  verdant  canopy.  When  the 
leaves  are  in  their  prime  he  is  perfectly 
concealed  from  view  by  his  color,  even 
when  he  takes  a  fancy  to  perch  upon  an 
outer  bough ;  and  there  he  mocks  and 
197 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

jeers  at  the  passers-by  with  songs  and 
laughter  and  merry  cries,  till  you  would 
think  a  whole  primary  school  was  let  loose 
upon  the  lawn  and  all  the  pupils  calling 
each  other  by  name,  or  else  that  this  was 
a  lunatic  asylum. 

To  return  to  the  line  of  trees  that  bor- 
der  the  street.  We  find  that  it  is  not  safe 
to  leave  them  without  a  heavy  top-dressing 
to  act  as  mulch,  and  this  application  hav- 
ing been  delayed  this  year  by  press  of 
business,  we  found  one  good-sized  Elm, 
that  we  imagined  to  be  settled  for  life, 
dropping  its  leaves  and  turning  brown  in 
a  most  unbecoming  manner,  while  the 
smaller  and  more  recently  planted  trees 
were  also  showing  signs  of  distress.  A 
good  dousing  and  dressing  brought  them 
all  to,  however,  and  when  the  mowing  of 
the  swale  after  the  rain  allowed  us  to 
make  the  rounds  of  the  plantation,  we 
discovered  that  the  only  serious  sufferers 
were  our  newly  set  Pines,  which  are  bring- 
ing the  hill  into  disrepute  by  their  brown 
and  sear  condition.  This  eminence  natu- 
rally suffers  severely  from  drought  and  hot 
weather;  the  little  Oaks  and  Chestnuts 
198 


Sufferings  from  Drougbt 


burn  up,  and  the  Pines  wilt  distressingly, 
but  they  are  so  numerous  that  there  is 
nothing  to  be  done  for  them  but  to  await 
the  survival  of  the  fittest.  An  Oak  once 
rooted  is  rooted  forever,  but  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  time  as  to  when  it  can  maintain 
its  top,  and  ours  have  burned  off  year 
after  year,  until  now  they  seem  to  have 
gained  vigor  enough  to  hang  on  in  spite 
of  fate. 

Among  the  searching  questions  that  are 
put  to  the  members  of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  in  their  meetings  for  the  investi- 
gation of  personal  character,  one  of  the 
queries  is,  "  Has  any  Friend  entered  into 
business  beyond  his  ability  to  manage  ?  " 

This  question  we  are  obliged  to  answer  A  *uian- 
in  the  affirmative  when  we  take  time  to 


ask  it  of  ourselves,  for,  having  outlined  tkri"' 
work  enough  for  a  dozen  men,  it  becomes 
a  puzzle  how  to  carry  it  on  with  only  the 
aid  of  one  factotum  ;  extra  hands  being 
very  hard  to  obtain  in  this  village  during 
the  summer  months.  Much  that  we  do 
is  accordingly  a  makeshift.  I  am  sadly 
obliged  to  confess  to  the  existence  of 
weeds  where  no  weeds  should  be,  of  neg- 
199 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

lected  spaces,  of  trees  on  the  hill  smoth- 
ered by  grass,  of  rose-bugs  unslain,  and 
caterpillars  left  at  large  ;  of  a  struggle  for 
general  effect,  rather  than  a  realization  of 
neatness  in  detail,  all  of  which  is  most 
reprehensible  and  melancholy.  We  look 
at  our  neighbors'  neat  gardens  with  re- 
morse and  envy,  and  can  only  console 
ourselves  by  reflecting  that  when  they  are 
gone  the  weeds  will  have  their  way,  but 
that  in  our  struggle  with  nature  in  the  end 
the  trees  will  win,  and  trample  the  weeds 
under  their  mighty  feet,  and  rear  their 
stately  heads  proudly,  while  the  beets  and 
carrots  of  a  future  generation  are  still 
struggling  with  their  yearly  foes. 
The  weeds'  In  a  recent  visit  to  the  shores  of  the 
Merrimac,  I  have  seen  hills  carpeted  with 
the  fallen  leaves  of  haughty  Pines  that 
have  numbered  some  centuries  of  growth, 
and  I  can  smile  at  the  flaunting  Daisies 
of  the  hill,  which  overtop  our  baby  ever- 
greens, and  threaten  to  exterminate  them. 
Your  days  are  numbered,  O  weeds  !  Wave 
now  and  dance  in  the  sunshine  while  you 
may,  for  the  first  nails  are  being  driven  in 
your  coffins.  Little  you  reck  that  the 
200 


Sufferings  from  Drought 


small  brown  spines,  that  disappear  at  your  A 
roots,  are  the  first  drops  of  a  rising  tide  '* 
that  is  to  bury  your  bright  blossoms,  and 
strangle  your  weedy  growth.  For  a  few 
years  to  come  you  may  preen  yourselves 
upon  the  hillside,  but  the  tiny  seedlings 
below  are  rising  higher  and  higher,  wider 
spread  their  green  arms,  thicker  falls  the 
brown  shower,  which  at  first  nourishes 
your  gaudy  uselessness,  but  at  last  shall 
arise  and  overwhelm  it  forever.  The  gay 
and  trivial  have  their  little  day  of  sunshine 
and  triumph,  but  the  strong  roots  of  seri- 
ous vigor  endure  when  the  sunlight  fails, 
and  the  winter  winds  blow.  Everything  in 
the  lower  is  typical  of  the  higher  life,  and 
the  ephemeral  for  a  time  seems  brighter 
and  stronger  than  the  eternal ;  but  not 
forever.  Though  speed  may  tell  in  a 
short  race,  it  is  bottom  that  wins  the  long 
ones,  and  it  is  the  patient  who  inherit  the 
earth. 

This  is  the  great  lesson  of  the  forest,  the  The  lesson 
philosophy  it  plants  in  him  who  nourishes 
it  and  awaits  its  growth.  In  the  faint  rus- 
tle of  the  tiny  leaflets  I  hear  the  murmur, 
"  Wait !  "  and  as  I  wander  under  the 
201 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 


Wait! 


Counsel  of 
thf  trtts. 


shade  of  trees  a  hundred  years  old,  I  hear 
the  echo  far  above  me  of  that  tender  cry, 
in  a  solemn  whisper :  "  Wait !  They,  too, 
shall  be  as  we  are,  giants  in  their  day. 
What  matters  it  that  thy  little  life  will  be 
long  over  ?  for  thee  the  weeds  and  battle, 
for  others  the  shade  and  rest.  Plant 
thou  !  that  is  thy  mission,  and  the  joy  of 
him  who  reaps  the  fruit  of  thy  labors  shall 
be  no  greater  than  thine.  Knowest  thou 
not,  O  thou  of  little  faith,  that  to  look 
forward  is  the  best  of  joys  ?  Thy  reward 
is  renewed  to  thee  daily  in  thy  hope. 
Learn  patience,  and  content  thy  soul." 

And  so  the  young  trees  and  the  old 
alike,  give  counsel  to  him  who  can  under- 
stand their  language,  whether  he  bends  to 
listen  to  the  soft  voice  at  his  feet,  or  lifts 
his  head  to  catch  the  diapason  of  the  over- 
arching forest ;  encouraged  by  the  lesson, 
we  take  up  our  burden  anew  —  in  our 
case  the  burden  of  a  watering-pot  —  and 
do  battle  with  the  drought  with  a  braver 
heart  and  sturdier  resolution. 
202 


XVII 
THE  BLESSING  OF  THE  RAIN 


The  garden  trees  are  busy  with  the  shower 
That  fell  ere  sunset ;  now  methinks  they  talk, 

Lowly  and  sweetly  as  befits  the  hour, 
One  to  another  down  the  grassy  walk. 

Hark  !  the  laburnum  from  his  opening  flower 
This  cheery  creeper  greets  in  whisper  light, 
While  the  grim  fir,  rejoicing  in  the  night, 

Hoarse  mutters  to  the  murmuring  sycamore. 

What  shall  I  deem  their  converse  ?    Would  they 
hail 

The  wild  gray  light  that  fronts  yon  massive  cloud, 
Or  the  half  bow  rising  like  pillared  fire  ? 
Or  are  they  sighing  faintly  for  desire 

That  with  May  dawn  their  leaves  may  be  o'er- 
flowed, 

And  dews  about  their  feet  may  never  fail  ? 

ARTHUR  HALLAM. 


XVII 

EFRESHING,  indeed,  are  the 
long  storms  that  succeed  these 

i  •  1  i     *        •  • 

burning  days  ;  and  it  is  a  joy  to 
see  the  thirsty  grass  and  plants 
drinking  in  life  with  every  drop.  I  am 
convinced  that  the  true  way  to  render 
yourself  indifferent  to  inclement  weather 
in  the  country  is  to  plant  trees.  No  rain 
can  ever  hurt  them,  and,  when  they  are 
freshly  set  out,  each  shower  is  a  satisfac- 
tion to  their  owner,  for  it  seems  as  if  they 
could  be  seen  to  grow  under  its  kindly  in- 
fluence, and  thus  a  day  or  week  of  hard 
rain,  instead  of  a  weariness,  becomes  a 
positive  delight.  I  am  not  sure  that  this 
would  bring  compensation  to  the  young 
for  having  to  forego  their  active  pleasures, 
but  the  more  I  become  interested  in  gar- 
dening the  more  I  am  convinced  that  it  is 
the  appropriate  pleasure  for  middle  life 
and  old  age. 

205 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Youth  hates  to  wait  for  anything,  and 
wishes  to  realize  its  dreams  so  soon  as 
they  are  conceived  ;  but  as  we  advance  in 
years  we  take  a  sober  satisfaction  in  wait- 
ing a  little  for  our  pleasures,  and  also  we 
like  something  that  can  recur,  and  that  is 
interminable.  Most  other  delights  once 
experienced  are  exhausted,  but  gardening 
grows  by  what  it  feeds  on.  It  is  the  same, 
and  yet  never  the  same  ;  it  can  be  forever 
renewed ;  it  can  be  indefinitely  extended  ; 
it  is  within  the  reach  of  all  dwellers  in  the 
country,  where  home  amusements  are  most 
needed.  It  can  be  compassed  by  the 
slenderest  purse,  and  it  will  give  a  man  a 
chance  to  spend  a  fortune  if  he  so  desire. 
It  has  its  agreeable  economies,  and  its  fas- 
cinating extravagances.  It  can  be  made 
to  satisfy  the  most  orderly  dispositions, 
and  also  return  beauty  and  grace  from 
careless  and  wild  arrangements.  It  can 
be  utilitarian  and  lucrative,  it  can  be 
merely  aesthetic  and  ornamental,  or  all 
four,  just  as  the  fancy  takes  you.  In  fact 
it  may  be  briefly  characterized  as  happi- 
ness for  the  million,  with  no  patent  on  it. 

Added  to  all  these  charms  is  its  whole- 
206 


The  Blessing  of  the  Rain 


someness,  its  absorbing  character,  and, 
best  of  all,  a  certain  humanness  about  the  m 
occupation  that  brings  one  into  pleasant 
relations  with  all  sorts  of  people,  and  af- 
fords one  a  topic  of  conversation  and  a 
meeting-ground,  even  where  he  is  limited 
to  the  most  unpromising  companions.  The 
village  crone  forgets  her  gossip  when  you 
talk  to  her  about  her  Rose  bushes,  or  her 
last  new  Geranium  slip  ;  the  farmer  waxes 
eloquent  over  the  merits  of  a  new  potato, 
or  a  way  of  protecting  melons,  and  you 
find  yourself  always  interested  and  in- 
structed, instead  of  bored,  since  almost 
any  one  you  meet  in  the  country  can  tell 
you  something  you  are  glad  to  know;  or 
else  he  is  eager  to  learn  what  you  are  do- 
ing yourself,  which  is  a  sure  way  to  afford 
you  entertainment,  since  every  man  is 
happy  when  allowed  to  ride  his  own 
hobby.  All  of  which  has  a  connection 
with  rain,  however  little  obvious  it  may  be, 
since  the  moral  of  my  discourse  is,  that 
when  one  becomes  not  only  resigned  to 
rain  but  glad  of  it,  he  has  taken  a  step 
toward  true  philosophy. 

A  garden  after  a  shower  has  always  an 
207 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Beauty  of  a  especial  charm  ;  everything  is  sweeter  and 
hower.  r  fresher,  even  in  its  often  bedraggled  con- 
dition. I  have  a  passion  for  dabbling  in 
water-coloring  of  this  description,  and  can- 
not keep  my  hands  from  the  weeds  and 
flowers,  when  I  venture  forth  to  see  how 
my  favorites  have  borne  the  storm.  It  is 
a  delight  to  put  one's  arms  about  a  boun- 
cing peony,  with  its  red  cheeks  all  cold 
and  dripping,  and  tie  a  string  around  it 
to  keep  its  bright  faces  clean.  The  for- 
ward flowers  kiss  you  as  you  struggle  to 
encircle  them ;  the  wet  leaves  box  your 
ears,  as  if  you  were  taking  a  liberty.  It  is 
some  time  before  you  can  accomplish  your 
purpose,  and  you  arise  from  the  encounter 
quite  breathless  and  dripping,  with  the 
pink  and  white  faces,  huddled  up  together, 
all  laughing  at  your  condition. 

It  is  June,  and  the  last  of  the  Fleur-de-lis 
are  quite  broken  down,  their  pearly  petals 
draggled  in  mud  and  defaced  by  water. 
This  delicate  French  beauty  will  put  up 
with  no  plebeian  touch,  but  withers  and 
dies  if  brought  in  contact  with  the  earth. 
The  Roses  stand  up,  after  their  bath,  quite 
fresh  and  shining,  but  the  buds,  which  are 
208 


The  Blessing  of  the  Rain 


so  blighted  by  a  heavy  rain  that  they  do 
not  open  afterward,  remind  me  of  the  Aus- 
trian violinist  in  "  A  Week  in  a  French 
Country  House,"  who  greatly  admired  an 
English  beauty,  but  confided  to  a  friend 
his  reason  for  not  offering  to  marry  her :  — 

"  She  vould  vash  me,  and  I  should 
die." 

Many  things  are  broken  down  and  re- 
quire tying  up.  If  the  rain  has  continued 
for  several  days  the  chickweeds  are  ram- 
pant, and  overrun  everything.  New  plants 
that  have  been  on  the  anxious  seat  during 
the  dry  weather  have  decided  to  stay,  and 
are  putting  forth  satisfactory  leaves. 

The  joyful  Pear-trees  shake  their  drops  The  cat-bird 

,  f  i  •     i      •  converses. 

down  upon  you,  the  cat-bird  sits  on  the 
grape  trellis  and  inquires  what  you  are  do- 
ing there.  It  is  a  way  he  has.  He  lives 
in  the  Box  arbor,  and  thinks  he  owns  the 
earth,  and  that  our  strawberries  are  his. 
He  scolds  the  cat,  and  defies  the  robin, 
and  has  such  a  trig,  gentlemanly  air  about 
him,  with  his  well-brushed  dark  coat,  that 
one  might  christen  him  Sir  Charles  Gran- 
dison.  He  makes  me  a  bow,  and  says 
civil  things  (or  uncivil)  in  his  own  tongue, 
209 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

which,  unfortunately,  I  .  do  not  under- 
stand. 

"I  thought  you  told  me  this  parrot 
could  talk  ? " 

"  So  he  can  —  ze  parrot  lankwich  — 
you  don't  expect  all  ze  lankwiches  for  ten 
tollar,  do  you  ?  " 

Thus  our  cat-bird,  which  costs  us  no- 
thing but  strawberries,  discourses  in  a  jar- 
gon which  we  would  fain  comprehend,  so 
as  to  answer  him  according  to  his  deserts ; 
and  sometimes  of  a  Sunday  morning  he 
sings  us  a  glorious  tune. 

When  the  rain  comes,  Apollo,  the  par- 
rot,  climbs  to  the  top  of  the  tree  in  which 
he  is  perched,  and  spreads  all  his  bright 
feathers  to  catch  the  shower.  Elongating 
his  wings,  he  makes  them  meet  over  his 
brow  in  the  very  attitude  of  the  cherubim, 
and  then,  turning  a  somersault,  he  hangs 
head  downward,  that  the  water  may  thor- 
oughly drench  his  plumage.  With  all  his 
gold,  and  red,  and  green  glittering  with 
raindrops,  he  resembles  some  superb 
blossom  quivering  on  a  stem,  and  makes 
a  beautiful  spectacle  of  himself.  When 
his  bath  is  done  he  chatters  and  laughs 
210 


The  Blessing  of  the  Rain 


with  glee,  and  sings  his  merriest  song,  with 
some  disregard  of  rhythm  and  tune,  but 
none  of  harmony,  till  all  the  smaller  birds 
begin  to  pipe  in  company. 

The  dusty  foliage  emerges  brilliantly 
shining  and  fresh.  Every  shower  seems 
to  bring  a  new  spring,  and  the  world  never 
fails  to  be  surprised  at  the  renovation 
which  succeeds  the  rain.  There  seem,  in- 
deed, to  be  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth. 
The  drooping  evergreens  lift  up  their  tas- 
seled  heads  and  take  courage ;  to  them 
it  means  life  and  new  hope.  The  vines 
throw  out  their  tendrils,  and  the  Honey- 
suckle emits  a  keener  perfume.  The  white 
Lilies  that  come  to  rejoice  us  just  as  the 
Roses  are  going,  gleam  in  the  twilight,  tall 
and  fair.  Who  falsely  says  that  it  is  merely 
a  license  of  the  poets  to  mingle  Roses  and 
Lilies,  since  they  do  not  blossom  at  the 
same  time  ?  With  us  the  Irises  and  the 
white  Flower  de  Luce  linger  till  after 
the  Roses  are  in  bloom,  and  then,  before 
the  queen  is  wholly  out  of  sight,  come  Th*flou*r 
these  stately  princesses,  her  followers,  like 
train-bearers  of  high  degree,  all  clad  in 
white  and  gold,  nearest  the  throne,  if  not 
211 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

rivals  for  the  '  ighest  place  of  all.  Is  it 
the  thorns  that  make  the  Rose  the  royal 
flower,  by  rendering  her  difficult  of  ac- 
cess, and  surrounding  her  with  a  body- 
guard of  lances  1  Who  shall  say  1  There 
are  moods  in  which  her  sumptuous  beauty 
and  heavy  fragrance  seem  less  regal  than 
the  haughty,  willowy  grace  of  her  rival 
flower,  and  we  hesitate  to  choose. 
Mistaken  And  not  the  flowers  alone  rejoice  in  the 
life-giving  drops,  but  the  "sweet  smale 
grass,"  refreshed  and  strengthened,  lifts 
its  green  blades  like  the  spear-heads  of  a 
rising  army.  The  dusty  mantle  that  has 
veiled  its  gentle  beauty  falls  from  it,  and 
the  wonderful  variation  of  its  tints  again 
delights  the  eye.  Those  artists  who  set 
our  teeth  on  edge  with  verdigris  and 
arsenic  floods,  to  represent  this  dearest 
and  homeliest  garment  of  our  mother 
earth,  seem  to  me  never  to  have  entered 
into  and  possessed  its  secret,  —  the  secret 
of  myriad  shadows,  of  myriad  lights,  each 
catching  a  reflection  from  its  neighbor 
blade,  the  brown  earth  below,  the  azure 
sky  above.  No  greenest  green  of  foliage 
or  meadow  ever  shocks  the  most  sensitive 
212 


The  Blessing  of  the  Rain 


vision,  for  Nature,  truest  of  painters,  never  Nature  it 
fails  to  break  her  colors  with  such  subtle 
mixtures,  that  only  the  utmost  training  of 
eye  and  hand  enables  the  artist  to  hint 
her  secret  upon  canvas ;  and  he  who,  with 
a  palette  of  crude  pigments  of  raw  pri- 
mary colors,  seeks  to  render  the  shifting 
emerald  of  spring,  the  topaz  of  the  new- 
mown  field,  or  the  gold  of  harvest,  is  as 
one  who  would  catch  the  flash  of  the  dia- 
mond, or  the  burning  heart  of  the  ruby,  on 
the  brush's  point,  and  think  to  imprison  it 
forever. 

There  are  some  lines  of  Matthew  Ar- 
nold that  a  wet  garden  always  brings  to 
mind,  in  which  the  poet  has  truly  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  fragrant  scene.  None 
but  a  frequenter  and  true  lover  of  gardens 
could,  in  a  few  words,  have  thus  pictured 
the  mingled  dismay  and  hope  with  which 
one  views  his  garden-plot  after  a  rain  has 
both  distressed  and  refreshed  it :  — 

So,  some  tempestuous  morn  in  early  June, 
When  the  year's  primal  burst  of  bloom  is  o'er, 

Before  the  roses  and  the  longest  day  — 
When  garden-walks,  and  all  the  grassy  floor 

With  blossoms,  red  and  white,  of  fallen  May, 
And  Chestnut-flowers  are  strewn  — 

213 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Th*  garde*       So  have  I  heard  the  cuckoo's  parting  cry, 

in  the  rain.  From  the  wet  field  through  the  vext  garden 

trees 
Come,  with  the  volleying  rain  and  tossing 

breeze ; 
The  bloom  is  gone,  and  with  the  bloom  go  I ! 

Too  quick  despairer,  wherefore  wilt  thou  go  ? 
Soon  will  the  high  Midsummer  pomps  come  on, 

Soon  will  the  musk  carnations  break  and  swell, 
Soon  shall  we  have  gold-dusted  snapdragon, 

Sweet-william  with  his  homely  cottage  smell, 

And  stocks  in  fragrant  blow ; 
Roses  that  down  the  alleys  shine  afar, 

And  open,  jasmine-muffled  lattices, 

And  groups  under  the  dreaming  garden  trees, 
And  the  full  moon,  and  the  white  evening  star. 
214 


XVIII 
DISCO  URA  CEMENTS 


Even  now  the  devastation  is  begun, 
And  half  the  business  of  destruction  done. 

GOLDSMITH. 

O  rivers,  forests,  hills,  and  plains  ! 
Oft  have  ye  heard  my  cantie  strains  ; 
But  now,  what  else  for  me  remains 
But  tales  of  woe  ? 

ROBERT  BURNS. 


XVIII 

HERE  are  other  things  beside  Gardening 

.  .   .        a  snare. 

drought  to  depress  the  spirits 
of  the  planter,  who  has  often 
reason  to  wonder  why  he  en- 
tered upon  his  disheartening  career. 

It  was,  I  believe,  Sir  George  Cornewall 
Lewis  who  declared  that  life  would  be  a 
very  enjoyable  thing  were  it  not  for  its 
pleasures,  which  is  convincing  proof  that 
he  must  at  some  time  or  other  have  inter- 
ested himself  in  gardening,  since  this  pur- 
suit, which  at  first  seems,  of  all  others,  the 
most  gentle  and  enticing,  leads  the  un- 
wary dilettante  from  woe  to  woe  before  it 
has  done  with  him. 

As  soon  as  our  forest  is  tall  enough  to 
show  above  it,  we  are  talking  of  erecting 
an  arch  at  its  most  obvious  point  of  en- 
trance, with  the  appropriate  inscription,  — 
Abandon  hope,  all  ye  who  enter  here  ! 

our  experience  leading  us  to  think  that 
217 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

the  only  way  to  enjoy  a  prospective  wil- 
derness is  to  find  one's  blessedness  in 
being  among  the  happy  few  who  expect 
nothing,  and  therefore  can  never  have  any 
but  agreeable  surprises.  This  arch,  which 
perhaps  will  more  appropriately  take  the 
form  of  a  lich-gate,  is  to  be  sculptured 
with  high  reliefs  of  the  woodchuck  and 
the  field  mouse,  while  the  rose-bug  and 
the  wire-worm  are  to  find  a  prominent 
place  in  the  general  decoration.  This 
architectural  step  has  been  suggested  by 
the  appearance  of  a  new  enemy,  which 
has  destroyed  the  last  vestige  of  our  confi- 
dence in  conifers,  and  is  a  new  proof  of 
that  perversity  in  trees  to  which  I  have 
before  reluctantly  called  attention. 

Early  in  July  we  noticed  a  tendency  to 
/S*f  ^  droop  in  the  leaders  of  some  of  the  Pines 
and  Spruces,  but  concluded  it  might  be 
the  dry  hot  weather  which  had  affected 
their  uprightness.  A  week  or  two  more 
passed,  and  the  new  tassels  of  the  year's 
growth  all  began  to  turn  yellow,  and  to 
hang  down  disconsolately.  We  then  sup- 
posed that  some  one  in  passing  might 
have  given  the  tops  of  the  little  trees  an 
218 


Discouragements 


unfriendly  twitch,  from  which  they  were  Trees  in 
suffering  •  but  as  the  days  went  by  and  a  tr 
stout  little  Norway  Spruce  near  the  house 
began  to  lose  its  topknot,  and  Episcopus 
himself  showed  a  bad  droop  in  his  mitre, 
we  thought  it  worth  while  to  look  into  the 
matter  more  closely,  so  we  chopped  off 
the  head  of  one  of  the  sufferers,  and  gave 
it  a  post-mortem  examination.  Dissec- 
tion revealed  ravages,  and  the  fatal  secret 
was  out.  There  was  a  worm  at  the  core  ! 

And  not  one  worm,  but  many,  —  small, 
white,  plump  and  persevering,  indifferent 
to  resin,  and  coolly  tunneling  their  way 
down  the  inside  of  the  stem  toward  the 
ground.  Certain  leaks  on  the  outside, 
and  port-holes  of  their  own  construction, 
showed  the  exact  length  to  which  they 
had  gone,  so  that  by  cutting  just  where 
these  signs  disappeared,  we  had  the  satis- 
faction of  ending  the  earthly  career  of  the 
leading  invader,  by  snipping  his  fat  un- 
pleasant carcass  neatly  in  two. 

We  pursued  our  insidious  foe  from  tree  ^»  insidious 

to  tree  with  the  shears,  and  beheaded  him 

with  great   slaughter.     But,  alas !  it  was 

only  a  realization  of  the  old  nursery  sneer, 

219 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

about  cutting  off  your  nose  to  spite  your 
face,  for  when  we  had  decapitated  the 
worm,  we  left  a  headless  tree  to  serve  as 
his  monument,  and,  in  some  cases,  the 
wretched  little  monster  compelled  the 
destruction  of  three  years'  slow  growth. 
A  fly  a/per-  The  parent  of  the  worm,  being  a  fly  of 
ambition  and  taste,  invariably  picked  out 
the  biggest  and  showiest  of  the  poor  little 
struggling  trees  to  lay  her  eggs  in,  so  that 
after  the  day  of  judgment  was  over,  and 
the  ins(ect)urrection  crushed,  our  pride 
was  crushed  with  it,  for  the  borer,  not 
being,  alack !  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vis- 
ion, left  an  awful  wrack  behind,  both  of 
our  Pines  and  our  vainglory. 

Small  comfort  do  we  find  in  the  assur- 
ance that  the  Pines  will  be  none  the 
worse  for  topping,  for,  with  a  life  and  trees 
so  short  as  ours,  "  a  few  years  "  are  not 
to  be  lightly  regarded,  and  the  poor  hill 
had  precious  little  good  looks  to  lose,  and 
has  been  waiting  for  its  beauty  already 
quite  long  enough.  Moreover,  what  assur- 
ance can  we  have  that  every  summer  will 
not  bring  with  it  fresh  devastation  ?  It 
takes  a  year  or  two  for  insects  to  find  you 
220 


Discouragements 


out ;  but  their  first  call  is  never  their  last. 
If  the  borers  have  intelligence  of  the  exist- 
ence of  Pines  on  "  Doctor's  Hill,"  they 
will  come  again  as  sure  as  the  tax-col- 
lector, and  new  woes  are  in  store  for  us 
from  their  visitations. 

Moved  by  that  desire  to  find  consola-  Norway 
tion  in  our  neighbor's  ills,  to  which  La  fermg  from 
Rochefoucauld  cynically  alludes,  we  go 
about  spying  at  the  tops  of  other  people's 
evergreens,  and  find  that  this  is  the  borer's 
year.  Driving,  a  few  days  since,  in  a 
neighboring  village,  I  saw,  with  concern, 
a  long  row  of  tall  Norway  Spruces  at  least 
forty  feet  high,  that  inclose  a  public  gar- 
den, all  suffering  from  the  attacks  of  our 
fell  marauder.  Luckily,  their  tops  will 
hardly  be  missed,  while  ours  —  Wae  's 
me !  as  Carlyle  would  moan. 

Now  the  question  arises,  Is  there  any 
prevention  as  well  as  cure  for  this  inflic- 
tion ?  Is  there  any  application  obnoxious 
to  the  borer's  mamma  that  can  be  put 
where  she  would  lay  her  eggs,  and  so 
induce  her  to  move  on  ?  Has  she  any 
avowed  distaste  for  whale-oil  soap,  or  coal- 
tar,  or  kerosene  emulsion,  or  any  other  un- 

221 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

pleasant  odor  ?  And  if  there  is  such  a 
deterrent,  where  should  it  be  applied  — 
on  the  very  top  of  the  leader,  or  at  the 
place  where  the  new  shoots  start  from  the 
old  year's  growth  ? 

When  a  person  sets  out  to  plant  a  tree 
?K£S  of™'  or  two  he  scarcely  bargains  for  having  the 
****'  study  of  entomology  thrown  in,  with  a 
course  of  chemistry  into  the  bargain,  not 
to  mention  toxicology,  and  the  trade  of 
wholesale  murder,  until  he  might  as  well 
begin  the  career  of  gardener  by  serving 
an  apprenticeship  to  the  Czar  of  Russia. 
I  am  horrified  by  the  bloodthirstiness  de- 
veloped by  this  seemingly  innocent  diver- 
sion j  still,  this  but  confirms  the  view  of 
pleasures  before  quoted.  Indeed  I  am  not 
sure  but  there  is  an  opening  for  an  essay 
on  the  Dangerous  Moral  Tendencies  of 
Gardening.  The  only  objection  to  it  is, 
that  if  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts 
got  wind  of  such  a  thing  it  would  pass 
a  law  which  might  prove  inconvenient. 
There  are  advantages  in  having  your 
morals  legislated  about  by  a  paternal,  not 
to  say  puritanically  paternal,  government, 
but  there  are  drawbacks  also  —  one  does 
222 


Discouragements 


not  always  wish  to  be  virtuous  by  act  of 
Parliament.  Still,  if  the  legislation  can  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  worms,  we  will  not 
complain. 

An  eminent  Philadelphia  physician,  vis- 
iting Boston,  was  struck  with  an  inscrip- 
tion in  the  Public  Garden,  "  Dogs  forbid- 
den to  swim  in  this  pond  on  Sunday," 
and  remarked  that  he  knew  that  education 
had  been  carried  to  an  advanced  stage  in 
Massachusetts,  but  he  had  not  learned  be- 
fore that  even  the  dogs  had  been  taught 
to  read  !  How  delighted  we  should  be 
to  learn  that  the  gypsy  moth  has  been 
warned  off  by  the  General  Court.  So  far 
we  of  the  South  Shore  have  been  left  to 
cope,  somewhat  ineffectively,  I  admit,  with 
our  own  insects,  but  if  the  famous  moth 
finds  us  out  we  may  expect  the  govern- 
ment myrmidons  at  its  heels,  and  let  us 
hope  that  they  will  carry  the  web-worms 
with  them.  But  a  commission  ramping 
about  the  fields,  even  for  so  praiseworthy 
a  purpose,  has  its  terrors. 

Another  discouragement  comes  in  the 
worm  which  saws  off  the  small  branches 
of  the  Oaks,  and  leaves  the  ground  strewn 
223 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

with  twigs,  as  after  a  storm  ;  but  that  su- 
percilious insect  disdains  trees  the  size  of 
ours,  and  he  is  still  to  be  anticipated. 

Upon   some   of  the   dwarf   evergreens 
we  have  discovered  a  white  scale  insect, 
something  like  a  mealy-bug,  which  covers 
the  trunks  and  branches  with   its  white 
spots,  but  that  seems  to  yield  to  the  dis- 
suasive effects  of  soap  and  water,    and 
disappears  after  a  good  scrubbing. 
A  Brob-          The  Hemlocks  are  to  be  watched  with 
a  new  anxiety,  since  the  newspapers  tell 
us  of  a  worm  that  is  destroying  the  foliage 
and  killing  the  timber  in  Potter  County, 
Pennsylvania.     This  creature  infests  the 
trees  in  great  quantities,  to  the  dismay  of 
the  lumbermen,  who  are  unable  to  destroy 
them.     It  is  hard  enough  to  persuade  a 
Hemlock  to  grow,  any  way,  but  if  a  beast 
is  lying  in  wait  to  devour  it,  we  may  as 
well  give  up  altogether.     I  am  told  that 
there  is  a  book  as  big  as  the  Bible,  pub- 
lished by  the  Agricultural  Department  in 
Washington,  about  nothing  in  the  world 
but  the  insects  injurious  to  forest-trees, 
which  seems   enough  to   discourage   the 
planters,  even  of  a  wood  that  can  be  cov- 
224 


Discouragements 


ered  by  a  pocket-handkerchief,  like  our  A  giant 
own ;  but,  to  crown  all,  we  rashly  took  a 
Brobdingnagian  in  the  tree-line  to  walk  in 
our  Lilliput  one  day  —  a  Brobdingnagian 
to  whom  the  largest  Elm  in  Hingham  is 
but  a  walking-stick  —  and,  looking  down 
upon  our  three-inch  Oaks,  he  complained 
that  there  were  not  trees  enough  !  Lucus 
a  non  lucendo  —  fancy  a  forest  with  that  de- 
ficiency !  Having,  moreover,  discovered 
that  our  favorite  Beeches  were  Black 
Birches,  he  contrived  to  impress  us  with 
the  fact  that  the  best  of  our  forest  was 
the  prospect,  and  that,  when  the  trees 
were  grown,  we  should  not  even  have 
that !  That  Brobdingnagian  was  a  terror  ! 
Luckily  he  had  not  much  daylight  to  see 
the  place  in,  or  we  should  never  have  the 
courage  to  go  on,  for  wherever  we  had  a 
good-sized  tree  he  advised  that  it  should 
be  cut  down,  and  if  there  was  a  square 
inch  of  territory  without  a  seedling  he 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  put  in 
a  handful ;  and  he  even  showed  a  disposi- 
tion to  discredit  our  crack  story  about  a 
yield  of  forty  bushels  in  the  palmy  days 
of  our  great  Pear-tree,  Methusaleh,  but 
225 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 


HetaJus 

tribute. 


A  vista  in- 
sisted upon. 


that  may  have  been  because  we  tried  to 
make  him  believe  they  were  barrels. 

So  much  for  taking  a  Man-Mountain 
into  Lilliput.  I  would  not  have  trusted 
that  one  alone  upon  the  premises  with  a 
pair  of  scissors,  for  there  is  nothing  less 
to  be  depended  on  than  the  cutting  mania. 
Granted  that  one  ultimately  accepts  the 
situation,  the  moment  when  your  tree 
comes  down  is  always  one  of  anguish.  It 
takes  so  long  to  grow,  and  is  so  easily  de- 
stroyed. Our  Brobdingnagian  took  his  toll 
at  last,  for  he  pointed  out  the  fact  that  the 
flourishing  little  Elm  I  have  been  cherish- 
ing to  shade  the  seat  in  the  Box-arbor 
from  the  noonday  heat,  was  really  injur- 
ing the  Box  and  should  come  down,  which 
it  did  forthwith,  as  a  tribute  to  his  supe- 
rior knowledge,  —  a  nice  tree,  too,  that  it 
would  take  ten  years  and  more  to  grow 
again. 

We  have  another  disturbing  visitor  who 
insists  upon  a  vista,  which  involves  the 
sacrifice  of  a  fine  clump  of  Lilacs  and 
Buckthorn,  that  shuts  off  a  view  of  the 
northern  part  of  the  place.  We  are  dis- 
posed to  think  that  it  would  be  an  im- 
226 


Discouragements 


provement  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  great 
Elm-trunk  and  the  green  grass  beyond ; 
but,  suppose  we  do  not  like  it  when  the 
bushes  are  down,  what  then  ? 

Even  given  on  his  part  the  best  artistic 
perception,  does  it  follow  that  another 
man's  views  of  what  you  ought  to  like 
always  suit  your  own  ? 

May  it  not  perhaps  be  wiser  to  work  The  contra- 

i  i  •  ^   riness  of  hu* 

out  your  own  problems  in  your  own  way  ? 
Human  nature  is  so  constituted  that  it 
yearns  for  authority,  and  when  it  gets 
authority  it  chafes  thereat,  and  each  man 
cherishes  his  own  unwisdom  as  dearer 
than  the  knowledge  of  another.  Such  con- 
trary beings  are  we  that  it  is  always  what 
we  have  not  that  seems  the  greater  bless- 
ing, and  we  seldom  know  when  we  are 
well  off.  The  hardest  state  of  mind  to 
attain  is  content,  and  so  little  do  we  know 
the  essence  of  happiness,  that  finding  the 
contented  man,  we  forthwith  compassion- 
ate him  for  his  lack  of  ambition,  or  gird  at 
him  for  supineness,  and  pride  ourselves 
upon  our  own  divine  unrest. 

Even  thus  do  the  educating  influences 
of  the  garden  lead  us  round  to  philoso- 
227 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

phy,  and   the  vista   through   the   bushes 
opens  out  a  moral  perspective. 

It  is  only  by  what  we  suffer  that  we 
learn  what  is  worth  while,  and,  judging  by 
the  amount  of  suffering  our  amateur  gar- 
dening gives  us,  we  ought  in  time  to  have 
the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  which,  ranging 
from  the  Cedar  of  Lebanon  to  the  Hyssop 
on  the  wall,  must  have  given  him  a  good 
deal  to  undergo.  No  wonder  that  he  dis- 
covered that  "all  is  vanity."  Probably  it 
was  borne  in  upon  him  by  finding  a  borer 
in  his  own  pet  Cedar,  or  a  caterpillar  crawl- 
ing over  the  remains  of  his  last  Hyssop. 

We,  struggling  along  after  that  illustri- 
ous gardener  of  Israel,  have  at  least  mas- 
tered one  lesson,  the  important  one  that 
Nature,  the  rudest  of  task  -  mistresses, 
takes  pains  early  to  impress  upon  her 
pupils,  sternly  reiterating,  — 

I  teach  by  killing,  let  the  others  learn ! 
228 


XIX 

A    WATER   GARDEN 


Little  streams  have  flowers  a  many, 
Beautiful  and  fair  as  any ; 
Typha  strong,  and  green  bur-seed ; 
Willow-herb  with  cotton-seed ; 
Arrowhead  with  eye  of  jet, 
And  the  water  violet 
There  the  flowering-bush  you  meet, 
And  the  plumy  meadow  sweet, 
And  in  places  deep  and  stilly, 
Marble-like,  the  water  lily. 

MARY  HOWITT. 


XIX 

O  long  as  our  friends  profit  by  The  order 
our  mistakes,  and  gain  the  re- 
sult of  our  experience,  we  have 
a  compensation  for  our  failures ; 
but  let  me  give  this  bit  of  advice  to  the 
would-be  gardener  :  if  one  is  unable  to  se- 
cure ample  assistance,  and  is  obliged  to 
develop  a  place  slowly,  the  order  of  plant- 
ing should  be  trees  first,  shrubs  second, 
flowers  last  of  all. 

Trees  may  be  considered  as  the  skele- 
ton, the  framework  upon  which  the  whole 
scheme  is  constructed,  giving  it  strong 
substantial  outlines  and  decisive  meaning. 
Shrubbery  plays  the  part  of  muscles  and 
flesh,  covering  the  unsightly  bare  places, 
rounding  out  the  form,  supplying  the  essen- 
tial, and  giving  grace  and  symmetry  to  the 
inclosure  ;  while  flowers  may  be  regarded 
as  the  clothing  with  which  the  completed 
body  is  finally  adorned.  Naturally,  one 
231 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

cannot  resist  sticking  in  a  few  flowers  as 
he  goes  along,  but  their  disposition  is  not 
final,  and  they  take  up  a  deal  of  time,  and 
are,  consequently,  to  be  relegated  to  a 
subordinate  place  at  first,  and  looked  for- 
ward to  as  the  occupation  reserved  for 
those  future  unemployed  hours  when  the 
woody  plants  can  be  left  to  grow,  and  ful- 
fill their  mission. 

w«  neglect  Here,  where  the  watering  during  sum- 
our flowers.  mer^  an(j  frequent  digging  about  and  top- 
dressing,  to  retain  moisture,  are  absolutely 
essential  to  trees  and  shrubs,  flowers  that 
have  to  be  weeded  and  tended  are  much 
neglected,  and  only  those  hardy  perennials 
that  will  take  care  of  themselves  and  defy 
weeds,  have  as  yet  any  kind  of  a  show. 
But  we  are  always  dreaming  of  a  period 
when  the  ligneous  plants  can  be  let  alone, 
and  we  can  turn  our  attention  seriously  to 
the  purely  ornamental. 

In  the  mean  time,  such  wild  things  as 
come  up  of  their  own  accord,  on  the  hill 
and  in  the  meadow,  are  full  of  interest, 
particularly  in  early  spring  and  in  late 
August,  when  the  stock  of  hardy  garden- 
flowers  runs  comparatively  low. 
232 


A  Water  Garden 


At  the  latter  period  the  little  spot  that  Frogs  in  the 
I  call  my  water  garden  is  really  quite  a  **  **" 
sight  for  such  a  humble  affair,  a  mere 
mud-hole  as  it  were,  formed  by  a  spring 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  which  makes  a  tiny 
frog-pond,  about  ten  feet  or  less  in  diame- 
ter. The  frogs  themselves  are  quite  orna- 
mental, wearing,  as  they  do,  the  most  gor- 
geous yellow  and  green  coats,  and  being 
quite  sociable  and  friendly,  ready  to  sit 
on  a  chip  and  croak  when  we  pay  them 
a  visit,  and  making  music  for  us  in  the 
spring  before  the  birds  are  fairly  abroad. 
The  old  bull-frog,  with  a  hoarse  cold,  is 
not  always  a  comfort,  for  he  has  a  way  of 
coughing  at  night,  like  an  asthmatic  old 
gentleman,  that  is  sometimes  distressing, 
if  you  lie  awake  to  listen,  for  it  makes  you 
sure  his  family  must  be  anxious  about  him ; 
but  the  piping  little  ones  have  quite  a 
cheerful  note,  which  blends  agreeably  with 
the  chirpings  of  the  grasshoppers. 

On  the  marshy  banks  of  the  little  pool, 
which  cannot  comfortably  be  reached  with- 
out overshoes,  some  slim  Willows  are 
bravely  growing,  which  I  fear  will  some 
day  make  it  too  shady  for  the  flowers,  but 
233 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

at  present  they  serve  to  give  the  spot  a 
cosy  and  protected  air,  and  the  sunlight 
shifts  through  the  light  foliage,  and  falls 
kindly  on  the  bright  group  of  blossoms 
that  make  it  so  gay  at  the  end  of  summer. 
Wild  flow-  The  pool  is  close  to  an  old  gray  fence, 
££/*  '  over  which  the  wild  vines  clamber,  and 
against  which  the  Milkwort,  with  its  stiff 
stems  and  smooth  leaves,  stands  up  erect, 
its  panicled  pink  blossom  a-top ;  not  a 
very  choice  plant,  but  a  sturdy  one,  and 
the  vivid  color  "  carries  "  well  against  the 
green,  and  composes  agreeably  with  the 
masses  of  Arrowheads  that  are  at  this 
season  full  of  blossoms  and  tall-stemmed 
sharp  leaves,  like  a  group  of  Amazons 
with  their  shafts  drawn  to  the  ear. 

At  the  edge  of  the  pool  a  mass  of 
sedges  has  been  left  unmown,  and  here 
are  clumps  of  the  creamy  blossoms  of 
the  wild  Foxglove,  mixed  with  all  sorts  of 
Goldenrod,  and  some  budding  Asters, 
while  the  flowers  of  the  Grasses  are  them- 
selves beautiful  and  various  in  their  own 
quiet  way,  some  with  plumes  and  some 
with  spears,  as  if  ready  to  oppose  the  Ar- 
rowheads. 

234 


A  Water  Garden 


The  wild  Caraway  and  the  Yarrow 
show  white  among  the  grass,  and  there  is 
a  wonderful  rosy  hue  in  the  tall  spikes  of 
Dock  that  are  blooming  near  by.  The 
Forget-me-nots  are  still  full  of  blue  blos- 
soms, and  spread  out  into  the  water  far 
and  wide,  the  earliest  to  come  and  the 
last  to  go  of  all  the  simple  ornaments  of 
the  water  garden. 

But  the  glory  of  the  pool  is  the  Cardi-  Water-lay 
nal-flower,  of  rich  dark  red,  which  lifts  *r<!  * 
its  bracted  racemes  proudly,  and  with  the 
dignity  of  a  true  hierarch.  This  shows  to 
advantage  for  the  first  time  this  year,  hav- 
ing before  fallen  a  victim  to  the  careless 
scythe,  so  that  its  blossoms,  which  it  per- 
sisted in  putting  forth  in  spite  of  discour- 
agements, were  only  a  few  inches  high. 
But  this  summer  no  mower  was  allowed 
to  come  within  six  feet  of  the  spot,  and 
we  are  well  rewarded  by  the  glow  and 
stateliness  of  this  superb  flower,  which 
would  be  an  ornament  to  the  proudest 
parterre.  The  Water-lily  bulbs  that  we 
got  from  a  nursery  in  the  spring  have 
proved  a  failure,  whether  because  they 
were  planted  too  deep  in  the  mud  or  be- 
235 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

cause  the  bulbs  were  defective,  it  is  im- 
possible to  say.  It  may  be  that  the  spring 
is  too  cold  for  them,  and  that  they  require 
the  warmer  water  of  a  pond ;  but  they 
should  not  be  difficult  to  raise,  for  I  saw 
a  pink  Water-lily  blossoming  this  summer 
A  ncky  in  a  rocky  pool,  with  nothing  to  grow  in 
but  the  ball  of  rich  mud  in  which  it  had 
been  tightly  packed  before  being  gently 
laid  in  its  stony  bed.  The  picturesque 
pool  is  a  feature  of  a  small  terraced  gar- 
den, built  out  from  the  rocky  side  of  a 
steep  hill  that  descends  abruptly  to  the 
seashore  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  The  ter- 
race is  approached  from  the  level  on 
which  the  house  above  it  is  built,  by  a 
rough  stone  stairway,  that  has  for  a  balus- 
trade a  huge  granite  boulder,  overgrown 
with  Ivy,  and  surmounted  with  trees. 
Great  rocks  inclose  the  terrace  on  three 
sides,  and  down  the  almost  perpendicular 
face  of  one  of  them  trickles  the  thread-like 
stream  that  falls  into  the  pool  below.  The 
overflow  wanders  away  in  a  small  grassy 
channel,  along  the  edge  of  which  tiny 
water-plants  grow,  and  Cardinal  -  flowers 
blossom.  In  the  basin  a  pink  Water-lily 
236 


A  Water  Garden 


is  blooming,  dainty  dweller  in  a  fairy  home, 
and  somewhere  in  the  shadows  a  goldfish 
has  a  lurking  -  place.  On  the  stone  curb 
a  blue  jug,  and  a  Japanese  drinking-vessel 
formed  of  a  shell,  with  a  handle  of  bam- 
boo, give  the  requisite  touch  of  human 
needs  and  uses  to  this  lonely  dell. 

The  little  green-turfed  terrace  is  encir-  Ati*yt*r- 
cled  with  flowers  that  thrive  in  this  warm  " 
nook,  where  the  morning  sun  shines  hotly, 
and  where  its  southwestern  rays  are  tem- 
pered by  the  shade  of  great  forest-trees. 
So  steep  is  the  hill  that  the  shining  waters 
of  the  ocean  are  seen  through  the  topmost 
branches  of  tall  Oaks  and  Hornbeams 
and  Pines,  while  others  stand  far  below. 
The  brown  seedy  spike  of  a  Dock-plant 
hangs  out  against  the  lichened  crag,  and 
forms  a  spot  of  rich  color  amid  the  pre- 
vailing gray,  while  all  about,  from  crevices 
in  the  rocks,  and  from  shady  recesses  be- 
neath them,  spring  Ferns  and  Grasses, 
with  wild  flowers  and  picturesque  weeds. 
Some  young  Sassafras  -  trees,  or  rather 
bushes,  near  by,  which  have  sprung  up 
of  their  own  accord,  have  a  particularly 
pleasing  effect  with  their  yellow -green 
237 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

leaves,  and  down  the  face  of  the  rock 
straggles  a  Blackberry-vine,  as  perfect  in 
outline  and  graceful  in  sweep  as  if  it  had 
been  drawn  by  the  hand  of  a  Japanese  ar- 
tist, each  cluster  of  finely  serrated  leaves 
having  a  distinct  value  against  the  mottled 
stony  background,  which  also  gives  a  fine 
relief  to  the  groups  of  flowers  and  ferns 
that  cluster  at  the  base  of  the  pool. 

In  such  a  situation  nothing  showy 
should  find  place,  but  only  those  things 
which  might  naturally  grow  around  a  for- 
est-spring. The  little  Cresses  along  the 
brook,  the  tender  Forget-me-nots,  the  fine 
small  Grasses,  the  water-weeds  and  ruby 
Lobelia,  that  have  been  wisely  set  here  to 
enjoy  the  moisture,  add  to  the  wildwood 
charm  of  the  pool  with  its  tinkling  water. 
A  7«As«M»  Taste  has  gone  hand  in  hand  with  na- 
ture and  produced  a  lovely  picture,  deli- 
cate in  detail,  fine  in  color  and  grouping, 
harmonious  in  general  composition.  Mi- 
nute the  space  is,  almost,  as  a  Japanese 
garden,  but  the  effect  is  dignified  and  po- 
etic. It  is  not  mere  prettiness  that  charms, 
but  the  true  artistic  feeling  with  which  the 
idea  has  been  conceived  and  executed. 

238 


A  Water  Garden 


The  little  scene  touches  and  captivates, 
while  gratifying  all  the  senses  with  sound 
and  sight  and  color,  and  soft  touch  of 
ocean  breezes  and  of  waving  leaves. 

Another  feature  of  the  picture  is  a 
second  semicircular  terrace  below,  with 
Clematis-clad  wall,  to  which  one  clambers 
by  another  flight  of  steps  hewn  in  the 
rock  to  find  more  flowers,  and  more  lovely 
weeds  and  grasses,  and  a  second  space  of 
well  mown  turf,  with  a  fine  outlook  on  the 
tossing  sea.  From  this  a  rugged  path 
leads  by  devious  ways  to  the  beach  below, 
where  are  boats  and  a  yacht  riding  at  an- 
chor, and  the  wide  stretch  of  the  great 
deep,  with  white  sails  upon  the  surface 
and  whiter  clouds  overhead.  These  ter- 
races form  a  bit  of  artistic  naturalness 
that  would  enchant  even  a  critic  from  the 
Flowery  Kingdom,  and  they  were  the  re-  Rts*it  <>/< 
suit  of  a  charming  woman's  skillful  plan- 
ning,  and  fine  sense  of  the  picturesque. 

But,  returning  to  our  own  water  garden, 
we  find  higher  up  the  bank  the  Hawk- 
weed  showing  its  yellow  stars  waving  on 
slender  stems,  and  the  Prunella  displaying 
its  stiff  blue  clusters,  while  more  Asters 
239 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

blossom,  and  tufts  of  Goldenrod  cling  to 
the  hillside,  and  entice  us  to  a  climb 
among  the  Pines. 

Here  we  find  that  the  dry  summer  has 
made  havoc.  Of  thirty-five  planted  in 
April  we  shall  barely  save  a  dozen.  This 
is  discouraging,  but  we  have  gone  bravely 
to  work  to  set  some  more,  and  try  whether 
August  skies  will  be  more  propitious  in 
the  way  of  rain.  We  have  also  put  in  a 
few  Savins,  though  we  hear  they  take  un- 
kindly to  transplanting. 
of  The  little  Oaks  and  Maples  have 
thriven,  and  are  showing  green  against  the 
already  withering  grass.  The  soil  is  yearly 
improving  by  letting  it  lie  fallow,  and  the 
foot  sinks  into  the  soft  cushion  the  uncut 
hay  is  making  as  a  covering  for  the  sand 
and  gravel.  If  it  were  not  for  endanger- 
ing the  seedlings,  quite  a  crop  could  be 
harvested.  It  is  not  soil  the  hill  lacks 
so  much  as  rain ;  but  the  long  drought 
parches  and  distresses  the  plantation,  and 
will  do  so  till  the  trees  can  shade  the 
ground  and  preserve  its  moisture. 

The  small  Chestnut  group  of  which  I 
boasted  in  the  spring  has  made  very  little 
240 


A  Water  Garden 


progress,  and  hardly  looks  larger  than  it 
did  last  summer.  Insects  injured  the 
early  growth,  and  there  was  no  later 
growth  for  lack  of  rain.  But  the  trees 
are  alive  and  healthy,  so  that  we  have 
something  to  be  thankful  for.  Our  one 
Mulberry- tree  bore  fruit  plentifully,  but 
failed  to  make  much  leaf-way.  None  of 
these  trees  were  either  top-dressed  or  wa- 
tered, or  they  would  have  done  better.  It 
is  impossible  for  us  to  keep  everything  in 
high  condition,  so  that  we  must  content 
ourselves  with  the  slow  progress  that  na- 
ture affords  when  unassisted.  It  really 
seems  as  if  sunshine  and  water  are  the 
prime  essentials,  and  that  feeding  is  not 
half  so  important  as  drinking.  With  this 
view,  it  is  hard  to  understand  why  it  would 
have  upset  the  economy  of  nature  to  have 
a  shower  every  night  in  summer,  to  re- 
fresh the  fields  and  gardens  of  the  world. 
Possibly  in  time,  when  the  new  system  of 
producing  rain  has  been  brought  down  to 
a  fine  point,  there  will  be  twice  a  week  in 
villages  a  pyrotechnic  display,  accompa- 
nied with  explosions,  that  will  transform 
241 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

the  year  into  a  perpetual  Fourth  of  July, 
to  the  delight  of  the  infant  mind. 

Seriously  speaking,  should  this  new  en- 
tknahtrt  terprise  prove  successful,  what  a  revolu- 
tion  man  is  to  produce  in  nature !  To 
trust  such  powers  to  his  pygmy  hand  is 
dangerous,  for  the  consequences  of  his 
personal  gratification  may  be  fatal  to  mil- 
lions. Fertilize  the  Desert  of  Sahara,  and 
you  cool  off  the  south  of  Europe.  Alter 
the  temperature  of  Spain  and  Italy  and 
southern  France,  and  what  is  to  become 
of  the  British  Isles  ?  It  may  be  that  thus 
the  future  of  the  Dark  Continent  is  to  be 
fulfilled.  Migrations  southward  may  be- 
gin. Norway  and  Sweden,  like  Greenland, 
may  be  left  principally  to  the  inferior 
races,  while  new  colonies  spring  up  in 
lands  now  tenanted  but  by  the  wandering 
Bedouin  or  the  swarthy  Soudanese. 

Given  new  conditions,  results  are  incal- 
culable, and  if  the  rain,  as  well  as  the 
lightning,  is  to  be  harnessed  to  the  Char- 
iot of  Man,  who  can  tell  what  disaster 
shall  await  the  Phaeton  who  dares  to 
drive  such  mighty  and  resistless  steeds  ? 
Shall  he  too  be  hurled  to  ruin  as  a  punish- 
242 


A  Water  Garden 


ment  for  his  overtopping  ambition?  or 
will  he  prove  master  and  lord  even  of  the 
elemental  forces  from  whence  he  came  ? 
What  is  most  sure  is,  that  before  they 
yield  themselves  wholly  to  his  bidding  he 
must  suffer  the  consequences  of  his  rash- 
ness, and  win  his  way  to  control  only  by 
ghastly  sacrifice  of  human  life. 
243 


XX 

LANDSCAPE   GARDENING 


Therefore  am  I  still 
A  lover  of  the  meadows  and  the  woods 
And  mountains ;  and  of  all  that  we  behold 
From  this  green  earth ;  of  all  the  mighty  world 
Of  eye  and  ear,  both  what  they  half  create 
And  what  perceive. 

WORDSWORTH. 


XX 

ROM  unrelated  detail  upon  a  An 
place,  we  are  gradually  led 
towards  broader  effects,  and 
a  desire  for  more  simple  rela- 
tions of  parts  to  the  whole,  while  a  wish 
to  bring  subordination  to  some  central 
idea  that  shall  give  purpose  to  the  pic- 
ture is  gradually  born  in  our  minds.  Thus 
our  work  becomes  an  education  in  the 
higher  principles  which  must  underlie  all 
beauty. 

When  we  first  purchased  this  old  farm  A  quiet  vit- 
no  dream  of  landscape  gardening  crossed 
our  minds.  It  was  not  to  found  a  coun- 
try-seat that  we  bought  it,  but  simply  to 
get  a  place  to  live  in,  a  quiet  village  home, 
as  indeed  it  is,  where  a  lovely  view  would 
gladden  our  eyes,  where  we  should  have 
elbow-room,  with  enough  land  to  cultivate 
to  provide  us  with  an  interest,  and  where 
we  could  raise  hay  for  our  horses,  and, 
247 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

perhaps,  a  few  vegetables  for  ourselves. 
A  tree  or  two  to  shade  us,  and  some 
Pines  on  the  hillside  to  relieve  its  dreari- 
ness, were  in  our  programme,  as  well  as 
the  Willows  along  the  street ;  but  we  felt 
that  we  had  twice  as  much  land  as  we 
needed,  and  should  probably  part  with  a 
lot  on  each  side  of  us  before  very  long, 
instead  of  wishing,  as  we  now  do,  for  a  few 
acres  more. 

As  in  everything  else  that  one  begins 
in  an  amateurish  way,  we  looked  no  fur- 
ther along  the  road  we  are  to  travel  than 
the  end  of  its  first  enticing  curve,  and  lit- 
tle we  recked  where  it  was  to  lead  us. 
To  get  rid  of  barrenness  was  our  obvious 
business,  but  there  was  no  method  in  our 
endeavor  beyond  the  mere  putting  in  of 
all  the  trees  and  shrubs  we  could  muster 
from  the  resources  of  the  place,  or  through 
the  kindness  of  our  friends. 

For  the  first  two  years  it  required  our 
f  ££*?***  best  energies  to  make  these  live,  and  there 
was   not   much   thought   beyond   dip 
around  them,  watering  them  when  dry,  and 
pruning  them  into  shape.     But  the  third 
summer,  when  the  bare  poles  began  to 
248 


Landscape  Gardening 


have  perceptible  tops  on  them,  and  the 
little  shrubs  to  occupy  a  substantial  space 
of  the  earth's  surface,  we  began  to  be  con- 
scious of  defects  of  arrangement,  of  a  lack 
of  meaning  and  purpose  in  the  picture, 
and  to  feel  the  necessity  of  a  more  artistic 
disposition  of  our  forces.  The  needs  of 
the  place,  too,  became  apparent.  The 
trees  that  had  been  planted  for  shade 
either  showed  that  they  would  throw  no 
shadows  at  all  within  the  next  ten  years, 
at  the  proper  hours,  or  else  would  throw 
them  where  they  were  not  particularly 
needed.  The  shrubs  in  groups  looked 
crowded,  the  single  ones  gave  a  spotty 
appearance  to  the  lawn  that  was  not  to  be 
borne,  the  driveways  were  too  wide  and 
their  curves  unsatisfactory,  while  the  ex- 
panses of  turf  were  too  brief  for  beauty. 

Each  effort  at  improvement  seemed  but 
to  make  us  the  more  conscious  of  our 
lacks,  and  while  our  neighbors  were  com- 
plimenting us  upon  the  improved  appear- 
ance of  the  farm,  which  no  longer  looked 
like  an  abandoned  sand-hill,  we  ourselves 
were  taking  counsel  together,  and  coming 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  place  was  a 
249 


Tke  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

schoolmaster  to  bring  us  unto  knowledge, 
by  the  painful  road  of  ignorance  and 
failure. 

/w/  The  conviction  that  you  know  nothing 

ivutctd  is  always  a  hopeful,  if  a  depressing  sign. 
When  the  painter  feels  that  his  finished 


picture  is  a  wretched  daub,  when  the 
writer  knows  that  his  last  romance  is  but 
a  thing  of  shreds  and  patches,  it  is  a 
proof  that  he  is  still  growing,  that  he  has 
a  stronger  note  to  strike,  and  that  his  end 
is  not  yet. 

One  of  our  leading  novelists  says  that 
his  stories  are  to  him  like  those  tapestries 
wrought  by  the  workman  from  behind,  of 
which  the  weaver  sees  only  the  wrong  side, 
the  knots  and  ends  of  the  worsted,  the 
seams  of  the  foundation,  so  that  when  the 
public  views  his  finished  work  with  de- 
light, recognizing  its  sincerity  and  dra- 
matic truth,  the  satisfaction  of  his  readers 
is  to  him  a  wonder,  since  from  his  own 
point  of  view  he  knows  not  whether  he 
has  wrought  well  or  ill. 

All  great  successes,  I  fancy,  must  be 
surprises  to  the  men  who  make  them,  for 
the  discontent  of  the  artist  with  his  paint- 
250 


Landscape  Gardening 


ing,  of  the  poet  with   his  verse,  of  the  The  pott 
playwright  with  his  play,  is  a  penalty  ex-  "painter 
acted  by  the  ideal  for  which  men  strive,  s*^fr' 
and  which  all  the  more  surely  eludes  the 
greatest,  whose  imagination  is  the  most 
far-reaching.     When   a   man   is   satisfied 
with  what  he  has  done  he  has  reached  his 
limit ;  from  that  point  he  goes  down-hill, 
imperceptibly  it  may  be  at  first,  but  none 
the  less  surely. 

Our  own  discontent  with  our  landscape- 
gardening  convinces  me  that  we  have  a 
future  before  us  for  a  good  while  to  come. 
Our  picture  will  bear  a  lot  of  working  on 
for  many  years  yet,  and  in  the  mean  time 
we  have  room  for  a  succession  of  despairs, 
which  will  serve  to  keep  us  properly 
humble. 

But  that  we  have  on  the  north  of  our  A  landscape 
house  a  landscape  to  evolve  that  is  a  true  *"* 
picture,  no  one  can   deny  who  looks  out 
upon  the  ever-changing  meadow  from  the 
bowery  veranda  from   which   we  view   it 
with  never-failing  joy.     Not  a  far-reaching 
view,  but  such  a  one  as  Englishmen  like 
to  paint,  a  distant  hill,  a  few  clustering 
cottages,  a  level  stretch  of  meadow  with  a 
25 « 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

A  *****  winding  stream  ;  some  Willows  near  at 
hand.  So  far,  so  good ;  but  the  fore- 
ground is  the  puzzle.  It  is  a  muddle  at 
present,  being  a  sacrifice  to  the  utilities, 
and  is  more  or  less  disfigured  with  fruit- 
trees  and  vegetables,  and  piles  of  sand 
that  have  been  dumped  upon  the  marsh. 
A  good  deal  veiled  it  is,  fortunately,  by 
the  bending  boughs  of  Pear  and  Apple 
trees  laden  with  fruit,  which  is  their  plea 
for  life,  and  when  one  is  seated  the  balus- 
trade of  the  veranda  is  an  efficient  screen, 
so  that  one  can  freely  enjoy  the  pleasing 
prospect. 

The  French  talk  of  the  St.  Martin  dcs 
femmes,  which  comes  to  them  after  the 
beattte  du  diable  has  long  gone  by ;  and  our 
meadow,  too,  has  its  fleeting  glory  of 
youth  in  early  spring,  with  Apple-bloom 
flush,  and  delicious  verdancy  to  match, 
and  then,  after  a  commonplace  summer 
of  good  looks,  it  comes  to  its  Martinmas, 
and  bums,  and  glows,  and  smiles,  with  a 
richness  and  warmth  that  are  the  precursor 

of  the 

Hectic  of  the  dying  year. 

In  this  mature  beauty,  which  is  far  more 
252 


Landscape  Gardening 


permanent  than  the  more  exquisite  spring  Autumn 

„,.        beauty  of  tk* 

loveliness,  there  is  a  great  charm.  The 
monotony  of  July  greens  has  yielded  to 
the  deeper  tones  of  the  woodland  in  Au- 
gust. The  declining  sun  casts  longer 
shadows  in  the  afternoon.  The  grass 
along  the  winding  stream,  now  at  its  low- 
est, stands  up  high  from  the  surface  of 
the  water,  with  darkly  shaded  edges  the 
more  apparent  that  its  prevailing  tones  are 
russet  with  bright  golden  lights,  where  the 
hay  has  not  yet  been  cut.  Here  and  there 
the  broad  expanse  shows  a  hay-cart  and  a 
few  moving  figures,  the  one  touch  of  life 
wanting  at  other  seasons  to  the  landscape. 
The  rounded  hay-cocks  in  the  distance 
are  lightly  shaded  on  the  side  opposite 
the  light.  There  are  streaks  of  red-brown 
where  some  of  the  grass  is  in  blossom,  and 
of  vivid  green  where  masses  of  sedges 
line  the  low  banks  of  the  tiny  winding 
river,  in  which  their  reflections  tone  the 
blue  through  soft  gradations  to  the  deepest 
shadow.  A  solitary  heron  floats  above 
the  marsh,  beating  the  air  with  slow 
strokes  of  his  broad  wings.  In  the  even- 
ing sometimes  the  clanging  of  the  wild 
253 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

geese  is  heard,  the  first  deep  tone  in  the 
knell  of  dying  summer.  Now  and  then 
a  white  flight  of  gulls  comes  up  from  the 
harbor  searching  for  fish,  pouncing  down 
behind  the  grass  after  some  luckless  perch 
in  the  water.  The  shadows  of  the  dis- 
tant Oaks  are  darkest  blue,  and  some 
far-off  Elms  fleck  the  front  of  an  orange- 
colored  cottage  and  subdue  it  to  harmony. 
The  gray  roofs  and  red  chimneys  of  the 
distant  houses  and  barns,  half-buried  in 
foliage,  seem  an  essential  of  the  picture, 
giving  it  that  touch  of  humanness  without 
which  a  landscape  lacks  its  final  charm. 
The  veranda  rail,  with  its  drapery  of  Wood- 
bine, gives  a  strong  accent  that  brings  out 
the  values  of  the  middle  distance,  while 
the  tops  of  two  old  Apple-trees,  laden  with 
fruit,  make  a  pleasing  curve  in  contrast  to 
the  level  lines  of  the  party-colored  marsh, 
elsewhere  broken  by  the  ashy-green  foli- 
age of  some  graceful  Willows  across  the 
invisible  road. 

So  much,  at  least,  our  landscape  gar- 
dening has  accomplished ;   the  ugly  line 
which   killed  our  predecessor  has   been 
obliterated  by  our  border-plantation,  and, 
254 


Landscape  Gardening 


to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  great 
stretch  of  grassy  meadow,  with  its  winding 
stream  and  its  bounding  masses  of  Oak 
and  Maple  woods,  is  our  own  park,  for 
none  of  its  owners  get  the  good  of  it  as 
we  do.  For  us  it  glows  with  sunshine,  or 
frowns  with  a  passing  cloud  ;  ours  all  this 
wealth  of  jasper  and  chrysoprase  and  tur- 
quoise ;  as  much  ours  as  the  silver  sheen 
of  the  Willows  which  wave  so  softly  gray 
against  it,  and  rest  the  eye  from  the  daz- 
zling tints  in  which  the  old  marsh  arrays 
herself  for  the  mowers.  But  the  problem 
that  vexes  our  spirits  is  that  unshaped 
foreground,  and  how  it  may  be  made  to 
blend  more  completely  with  the  meadow 
into  one  harmonious  whole.  If  the  great 
Apple-tree  could  but  change  places  with  a 
certain  Elm,  that  is  of  no  use  in  the  land- 
scape where  it  stands,  the  matter  would 
settle  itself.  Two  more  Apple-trees  to  cut 
down,  and  you  have  a  composition. 

But  a  Seek-no-further,  which  bears  sev- 

.  .  must  not  be 

eral  barrels  of  early  apples  that  are  very 
good  eating,  is  not  easily  to  be  sacrificed, 
even  to  the  demands  of  a  landscape,  to 
which  it  is  also  advantageous  from  its 
255 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

height  and  mass,  that  could  not  be  re- 
produced by  any  tree  planted  in  our  day, 
unless,  indeed,  we  had  the  purse  of  Miss 
Catherine  Wolfe  to  spend  thousands  in 
moving  giants.  If  it  could  be  had  for  the 
asking,  I  think  I  should  choose  a  low, 
wide-spreading  Oak  rather  than  a  stately 
Elm,  or  possibly  the  view  might  be  im- 
proved if  we  had  no  tree  at  all,  but  that 
effect  we  have  from  an  upper  window, 
which  may  have  its  balcony  some  day. 
A  dtoriif  A  whirlwind  swept  up  the  valley  on  the 
twelfth  of  August,  and  very  nearly  settled 
the  question  for  us  by  making  a  clean 
sweep,  but,  luckily,  contented  itself  with 
two  or  three  great  boughs  full  of  apples, 
which  are  left  hanging  now  by  a  slip  of 
bark,  in  hopes  that  they  may  get  sap 
enough  through  this  narrow  channel  to 
ripen,  but  it  looks  doubtful. 

The  same  storm  made  havoc  in  the 
garden  with  such  tall  Hollyhocks  and 
Poppies  as  had  carelessly  been  left  untied, 
and  then  whisked  a  branch  from  off  our 
great  Elm,  and  split  in  two  a  large  Swamp 
Maple  on  the  other  side  of  the  street.  A 
five-minute  tornado  it  was,  with  pouring 


Landscape  Gardening 


flood  that  swept  the  main  street  of  the 
village,  and  littered  it  with  fallen  trunks 
and  limbs  twisted  off  in  its  whirling  flight. 
As  brief,  but  more  violent  a  gale  I  have 
seen  in  Maine,  cutting  a  forest  into  wind- 
rows, as  a  mower  would  cut  grass  with  his 
scythe. 

To  make  a  landscape  garden  one  must 
live  with  it  and  study  it,  putting  in  a  touch  quirts  study. 
here  and  there,  as  the  painter  treats  his 
canvas,  now  effacing  a  spot,  again  adding 
an  accent,  blending,  harmonizing,  even 
destroying,  if  need  be,  and  beginning 
once  more.  Advice  you  may  listen  to, 
but  be  not  over-hasty  to  accept  sugges- 
tion. Weigh  each  idea  well  before  you 
admit  it,  look  at  it  from  all  sides,  for  it 
will  always  have  more  than  one.  It  is  you 
who  will  have  to  live  with  the  picture,  and 
it  is  your  mind  that  should  lend  the  indi- 
viduality that  will  make  the  scene  your 
own.  It  is,  after  all,  the  personal  touch 
that  is  worth  while. 

A  fair  woman,  who  is  a  summer  neigh- 
bor of  ours,  took  me  the  other  day  through 
interesting  grounds,  which  her  own  taste 
and  care  had  brought  into  a  wild  and  yet 
257 


The  fescue  of  an  Old  Place 

controlled  beauty.  Boulders  draped  with 
vines,  and  shrubberies  of  native  growth, 
lined  the  long  avenue  that  wound  up  a 
wooded  and  rocky  hillside  to  a  home 
which  overlooks  Massachusetts  Bay.  But 

A  vifwof  the  finest  feature  of  the  commanding  pros- 
pect was  a  glimpse  of  the  rounded  hills 

cZZtttt.  and  silver-shining  water  of  Hingham  Har- 
bor, toward  which  the  eye  was  led  over 
miles  of  treetops.  Just  in  front  was  a 
lawn  of  perfect  turf,  golden-green  in  the 
low  sunlight,  and  a  little  way  off,  against 
the  blue  dome  of  sky,  stood  up  some  heavy 
Cedars,  their  black  masses  of  foliage  giv- 
ing just  the  required  force  of  accent  to 
the  foreground,  throwing  far  away  into 
the  remotest  distance  the  lovely  outline 
of  the  Blue  Hills  of  Milton. 

An  abiding  Such  a  picture  one  cannot  forget.  In- 
tclligcnce  and  taste  have  added  to  it  the 
last  refining  touch.  Remoteness  is  here, 
and  sylvan  wildness,  contrasted  with  the 
gentle  charm  of  well-swept  turf,  and  skill- 
fully subordinated  groups  of  flowering 
shrubs  and  plants,  that  complete,  but  form 
no  jarring  note  in  the  beautiful  scene.  To 
me  it  seemed  perfection,  but  with  the  eye 
258 


Landscape  Gardening 


of  the  true  artist  who  loves  his  work,  my 
hostess  noted  a  ledge  here,  an  obtrusive 
Oak-top  there,  which,  to  her  fastidious 
taste,  seemed  to  intrude.  For  the  true 
lover  of  nature  works  forever  at  his  pic- 
ture, ever  sensitive  to  a  new  charm,  watch- 
ful for  a  fresh  effect,  rejoicing  in  each 
change,  painting  with  a  palette  of  the 
great  Mother's  blending,  on  a  canvas  of 
her  own  contriving,  with  an  impression- 
ism that  cannot  falsify,  and  a  detail  that 
is  never  intrusive.  In  this  great  school 
one  learns  breadth  without  vagueness,  in- 
tensity without  violence,  and  softness  that 
cannot  be  effeminate.  The  value  of  at- 
mosphere, the  glory  of  the  sky,  can  never 
be  out  of  key  with  the  picture,  and  the 
"  seeing  eye,"  by  careful  study  and  patient 
waiting,  can  here  evolve  ideal  beauty  from 
material  form. 

259 


XXI 

THE    WANING    YEAR  AND  ITS 
SUGGESTIONS 


Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulnessl 
Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun. 

KEATS. 

Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her  ;  't  is  her  privilege 
Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy. 

WORDSWORTH. 


XXI 

RUR  season's  labor  draws  to  its 
close,  and  with  it  comes  a  pe- 
riod of  rest  and  reflection,  as 
we  turn  our  thoughts  back 
through  this  pleasant  summer  of  work  and 
hope. 

The  charm  of  a  long  autumn  is  very  Autumn 
great,  but  seldom  permitted  by  our  capri- 
cious climate,  which  is  apt  to  spoil  the 
garden  in  September,  and  then  make  the 
misfortune  the  more  apparent  by  a  suc- 
cession of  mild  October  days,  when  flow- 
ers and  green  leaves  would  suit  the  soft 
warm  weather. 

This  year,  which  has  made  eccentric 
shifts  of  all  the  months  in  turn,  giving 
us  a  dry  April  and  a  cold  July,  bestowed 
upon  us  a  most  enchanting  autumn,  mild 
and  free  from  storms,  so  that  vegetation 
remained  perfect  till  late  October,  and  the 
harvest-time  was  most  propitious. 
263 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

A  d*iay*d  No  early  frost  blighted  the  cornfield,  or 
marred  the  golden  pumpkin's  fairness. 
No  rain  made  the  apple  and  pear  gather- 
ing a  disappointment  and  a  sorrow.  Late 
flowers  lined  the  garden -walks  in  un- 
chilled  splendor  until  mid-October,  while 
the  soft  September  haze  and  the  mellow 
glow  of  the  suceeding  month  showed  Ma- 
ples in  full  green  leaf,  and  Oaks  with 
only  a  touch  of  ripened  crimson. 

When  the  autumn  comes  thus  slowly  to 
maturity,  a  tinge  of  russet  and  gold  creeps 
softly  into  the  landscape.  Here  and  there 
is  the  accent  of  a  red  leaf  or  branch,  like 
the  note  of  a  trumpet  in  an  orchestra.  Soft 
browns  steal  into  the  meadows,  and  form 
a  shade  on  northern  slopes.  Dead  are 
the  Goldenrods  and  Asters,  faded  the 
roadside  flowers.  The  Rose-hips  make 
ruddy  gleams  in  the  bushes,  and  a  few  be- 
lated  Barberries  cling  to  their  thorny  stems 
in  wizened  splendor,  while  other  berries, 
purple  and  black,  cluster  by  the  fences, 
and  the  nut-trees  hang  out  their  smooth 
or  prickly  burrs,  promising  a  harvest  of 
brown  fruit 

This  is  the  green  old  age  of  the  year, 


The  Waning  Year  and  its  Suggestions 
cheery   and   fruitful,  bountiful   and   rich.  Tkeoidagt 

J  0f  the  year. 

Gone  are  the  hurry  of  spring  and  the  bur- 
den of  summer,  the  slow  harvest  has  been 
gathered,  and  repose  has  come  to  the 
teeming  earth.  Now  must  the  gardener 
look  forward  and  plan  for  the  coming  sea- 
son, and  set  his  bulbs  for  spring  blooming, 
and  clear  away  the  rubbish  of  dead  stems 
from  the  flower-beds,  and  transplant  pe- 
rennials that  they  may  blossom  freely  the 
following  summer. 

It  is  well  in  planting  a  garden  to  ar- 
range for  this  season,  which  is  so  pleasing, 
by  having  a  profusion  of  hardy  plants  that 
are  not  easily  disheartened  by  a  chill,  and 
make  a  brave  show  as  the  year  wanes. 
This  is  a  care  often  neglected  by  public 
gardeners,  who  stock  their  parterres  with 
ephemeral  blooms  that  the  first  cold 
breath  destroys,  leaving  but  a  dreary 
group  of  dry  sticks  behind. 

Well  mingled  with  these  more  delicate  Late  u<>*- 
plants  should  be  those  hardy  perennials  *° 
that  lift  their  gallant  little  heads  and  smile 
in  the  very  teeth  of  winter.     The  hardy 
Chrysanthemum,  the  Marigold,  and  Calen- 
dula are  a  delight  in  the  late  autumn,  with 

265 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

their  cheery  tints.  The  Salvia,  less  hardy, 
is  the  glory  of  a  September  garden,  and 
many  another  flower,  with  a  little  shelter 
at  night,  will  make  a  walk  gay  and  cheer- 
ful that  would  otherwise  be  gloomy  with 
decay  and  desolation.  The  Japanese  An- 
emone is  a  treasure  at  this  season,  and 
those  bushes  bearing  ornamental  fruit, 
which  hangs  on  even  amid  the  snows  of 
winter,  should  never  be  omitted  from  a 
border. 

Comfort  Like  a  happy  temper  in  adversity  is  a 

gleam  of  color  in  the  garden  in  the  late 
autumn.  One  draws  a  lesson  of  good 
cheer  from  a  Calendula,  so  undaunted  and 
gay  even  when  the  snows  are  falling  on  its 
golden  head.  A  cluster  of  red  berries  on 
a  dry  stem  gives  a  distinct  joy  in  early 
winter,  and  life  is  made  brighter  by  the 
aspect  of  hardy  blossoms  and  hardier  fruit 
when  all  the  trees  around  are  stripped  of 
foliage. 

In  summer  the  charm  of  a  garden  is  in 
its  coolness  and  shade,  in  the  dark  shelter 
of  thick  trees  and  the  quiet  of  a  shaded 
arbor.  In  the  autumn  we  seek  the  sun- 
shine and  desire  color  and  warmth,  wish- 
266 


The  Waning  Year  and  its  Suggestions 

ing   to   forget   the  coming   cold  and  the 
swift  fading  of  leaf  and  flower. 

It  is  like  the  natural  clinging  of  man  to 

..r          ...      .  dreads  death 

life  which  increases  as  years  steal  upon  it*s  than  the 
him.  Youth  does  not  dread  death  as  age  age 
shrinks  from  it.  The  habit  of  living  be- 
comes stronger  as  we  descend  the  hill, 
and  the  suggestion  of  interruption  seems 
impertinent.  The  late  scentless  flowers 
are  more  precious  than  the  summer  Roses, 
for  their  time  will  soon  be  gone.  Nature 
cheats  us  with  her  autumn  splendor,  which 
beguiles  the  mind  into  forgetting  that  it  is 
the  precursor  of  decay.  While  we  admire 
the  glory  of  a  Maple  grove,  we  do  not  real- 
ize that  the  storms  of  winter  are  gathering 
behind  the  forest.  When  the  mountains 
are  purple  in  the  low  sunlight,  we  forget 
the  snows  that  shall  soon  whiten  their 
summits,  and  there  is  wisdom  in  this 
natural  instinct  that  forbids  foreboding 
when  joy  is  at  hand,  which  can  enjoy  the 
present  without  seeking  to  lift  the  curtain 
of  the  future. 

Let  us  rejoice,  then,  in  the  autumn  flow-  Rejoice  i* 
ers ;  in  the  soft  atmosphere  that  clothes 
the  world    with   beauty;     in    the   great 
267 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

moon's  yellow  light;  in  the  round,  soft 
clouds,  and  the  wild  scurry  of  the  dun 
rack  that  scuds  across  the  heavens  when 
the  breeze  rises.  Full  soon  will  that 
searching  wind  scatter  the  jewel -like 
leaves,  and  tear  the  last  petal  from  the 
shrinking  flowers,  while  the  grass  grows 
brown  and  sear,  and  the  soft  earth  stiffens, 
like  a  body  from  which  life  has  departed. 
Too  soon  will  the  valiant  head  of  the  last 
Daisy  be  buried  in  a  mantle  of  snow,  and 
the  leaden  sky  bend  low  above  a  frozen 
earth.  Let  us  be  glad  then  while  we  may, 
for  the  days  shorten,  and  with  them  our 
summer  joys,  and  the  lives  of  the  autumn 
flowers. 

A  it****  But  as  the  summer  wanes,  and  we  turn 

once  more  from  nature  to  our  own  minds 
for  refreshment  and  solace,  we  begin  to 
consider  what  the  year's  efforts  have 
brought  to  us,  and  to  reflect  what  is  the 
serious  lesson  taught  by  all  our  labor,  and 
to  sum  up  our  inward  experiences,  before 
we  take  that  account  of  our  material  stock 
with  which  this  simple  record  is  to  close. 
No  experiment  is  really  valuable  which 
does  not  conduce  to  the  mind's  growth, 
268 


The  Waning  Year  and  its  Suggestions 

and  therefore  amid  these  frolicsome  rec- 
ords of  disaster  and  enjoyment,  I  would 
wish  to  insert  this  one  didactic  chapter, 
which  may  easily  be  skipped  by  those  who 
seek  amusement  only,  in  reading  this  little 
book,  in  which  I  can  emphasize  in  a  few 
words  the  effect  of  out-of-door  interests 
upon  the  mind  and  moral  nature  of  those 
who  enjoy  them.  And  I  do  this  the  more 
willingly  because  I  believe  that  a  taste  for 
gardening  is  one  of  the  elemental  impulses 
of  humanity.  There  are  individuals  with- 
out it,  as  there  are  people  without  sight  or 
hearing  or  a  sense  of  smell ;  but,  on  the 
whole,  to  dig  comes  naturally  to  man,  and 
at  some  time  or  other  in  the  course  of  his 
existence  the  desire  to  own  a  portion  of 
the  earth's  surface  is  apt  to  seize  upon 
him,  and  demand  satisfaction. 

This  impulse  is  of  maturity  rather  than  A  *. 

«  ...  maturuy. 

of  youth,  for  gardening  in  its  larger  sense 
is  a  thoughtful  pursuit,  appealing  to  the 
broader  qualities  of  the  understanding. 
It  is  not  merely  the  desire  for  healthful 
exercise  which  stirs  a  man,  but  also  the 
wish  to  learn  the  secrets  of  our  common 
mother,  to  force  her  hand,  as  it  were,  and 
269 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

compel  her  to  reward  his  toil.  The  fable 
of  the  giant  Antaeus,  who  renewed  his 
strength  when  he  came  in  contact  with  the 
earth,  has  a  subtle  meaning,  for  it  is  by 
this  contact  that  many  weary  souls  have 
found  rest  and  arisen  refreshed. 

To  him  who  is  tired  of  mankind  the 
solitude  and  peace  of  a  garden  have  a 
rare  charm.  Many  a  great  statesman 
has  turned  from  the  cares  of  state  to  till 
his  fields,  or  cultivate  his  flower-beds  and 
trees,  his  alert  brain  finding  full  range 
for  its  activity  in  some  scheme  of  land- 
scape, or  some  great  project  for  fertiliz- 
ing a  barren  waste  and  rendering  it  pro- 
ductive. 

/M/«r  Gardening  gratifies  the  thoughtful  mind, 
because  it  does  not  look  for  immediate  re- 
sults. It  inculcates  patience  in  all  its 
teachings,  —  patience  not  only  with  pro- 
cesses, but  with  results,  for  disappoint- 
ments have  often  to  be  met ;  the  best  of 
schemes  fail  of  accomplishment,  new  ene- 
mies arise  on  every  hand,  visible  and  hid- 
den. To  combat  them  requires  perse- 
verance, fertility  in  resource,  promptness 
in  action. 

270 


Tbe  Waning  Year  and  its  Suggestions 

The  gardener's  life  can  never  be  purely 
contemplative.  However  fair  his  domain, 
he  must  perforce  keep  his  eyes  open  in  it, 
and  his  mind  active.  Vigilance  must  be 
his  attribute,  or  he  will  have  cause  for  re- 
gret By  watching  he  learns  what  to  do, 
and  what  to  leave  undone,  the  habits 
of  the  plants  he  tends,  their  needs,  their 
uses,  the  different  phases  of  their  beauty. 
Unconsciously  he  becomes  educated,  and 
his  mind  lays  up  new  stores  of  facts  and 
deductions  for  future  use. 

The  planter  also  grows  in  unselfish  zeal 

TJ  toil  htlps  tkt 

as  his  plans  increase  in  scope.  He  pre- 
pares  for  the  future  race,  not  alone  for  his 
own  joy.  The  trees  he  disposes  for  an- 
other generation  to  sit  under;  he  plants 
timber  for  the  heir  to  cut ;  he  adds  to  his 
broad  acres  that  he  may  leave  them  to  his 
children.  For  himself  the  toil,  for  others 
the  fruit  of  his  labors ;  and  thus,  setting 
aside  his  own  recompense,  he  comes  into 
a  larger  manhood,  into  that  fullness  of  life 
which  only  belongs  to  him  who  has  for- 
gotten self,  and  lives  for  an  end  he  cannot 
hope  to  see. 

From  all  this  training  should  result  en- 
271 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

Moral  train-  durance  of  unavoidable  evils,  fortitude  in 
lga/d^a  disappointment,  serenity  of  mind.  Thus 
the  garden  shows  itself  to  be  a  school  of 
the  higher  virtues,  of  patience,  of  tranquil- 
lity, of  vigilance,  of  fortitude,  of  unselfish- 
ness and  high  serenity. 

More  lessons  than  these  it  teaches, 
therefore  small  wonder  that  the  g-roping 
soul  of  man,  ever  seeking  higher  things, 
turns  to  this  simplest  pursuit  as  a  child  to 
its  mother,  finding  in  her  arms  comfort 
for  his  unrest.  Unconsciously  he  seeks 
this  school,  which  is  so  great  a  help  to  his 
spirit,  and  thinks  often  it  is  the  pure  air 
and  exercise  alone  that  have  given  tone  to 
his  nerves,  and  fresh  vigor  to  his  under- 
standing. 

itt best efftct  But,  after  all,  the  best  thing  the  garden 
does  for  man  is  to  imbue  him  with  a  love 
of  home,  to  anchor  him  to  that  one  spot  of 
the  earth's  surface  which  he  calls  his  own, 
and  to  which  he  can  impart  some  portion 
of  his  own  individuality.  The  acres  he 
has  tilled,  the  garden-plot  he  has  watered, 
will  always  be  dear  to  him  and  to  his  chil- 
dren, and  it  is  this  desire  for  a  home  and 
an  inheritance  for  those  who  shall  come 
272 


The  Waning  Year  and  its  Suggestions 

after  him,  that  drives  him  to  the  purchase 
of  land  and  the  beginning  of  agriculture. 

A   man   who   owns   a  freehold   in   his  Tkeimpor- 

.      tance  of  a 

country  becomes  of  account  at  once  ;  it  freehold. 
lifts  him  from  the  position  of  a  transient 
into  the  dignity  of  a  resident ;  he  gives 
hostages  to  fortune  ;  he  becomes  an  es- 
tablished citizen,  in  place  of  a  possible 
tramp,  and  is  of  more  value  in  the  com- 
munity forthwith.  The  effect  upon  him- 
self is  elevating  and  composing.  It  stills 
his  restlessness,  allays  ennui,  turns  the 
current  of  his  mind  into  new  channels, 
provides  him  with  an  amusement  for  his 
leisure  hours,  while  giving  occasion  for 
healthful  exertion,  as  well  as  stimulating 
wholesome  thought.  It  is  opposed  to 
morbidness,  it  forbids  subjectivity,  it 
rouses  the  imagination,  and  gratifies  the 
love  of  beauty. 

There  is  that  fine  largeness  of  quality 
in  it  as  an  amusement  that  appeals  to  the 
simplest  minds,  as  well  as  to  the  most 
comprehensive.  It  is  this  which  proves 
that  it  is  elemental  and  human  to  love  a 
garden,  to  enjoy  the  soil,  to  find  comfort 
in  watching  the  development  of  plants 
273 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

and  trees,  and  joy  in  their  blossom  and 
fruitage. 

In  America  we  need  just  this  to  give  us 
stay  and  balance.  In  the  older  world, 
where  habits  are  more  established,  the 
taste  is  strong.  Here  it  is  overgrown  by 
many  things.  In  so  great  a  land  as  ours 
one  portion  of  the  soil  seems  not  enough 
for  the  citizen.  He  wants  a  ranch  in 
Colorado,  an  Orange-grove  in  Florida,  a 
seaside  home  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  in 
addition  to  his  city  dwelling.  But  as  the 
crowd  increases,  and  the  nation  ages,  more 
and  more  will  men  concentrate  their  ener- 
gies upon  one  spot,  and  the  love  of  home 
and  locality  will  grow  more  intense,  as  it 
is  apt  to  do  in  the  human  being  when 
years  bring  greater  quiet  to  his  spirit,  and 
make  rest  his  choicest  blessing. 

When  we  are  at  last  sure  that  our  chil- 
/  dren  will  be  content  to  reap  what  we  have 
sown,  to  repose  under  the  trees  that  we 
have  planted,  solidity  and  peace  will  come 
to  us,  and  life  will  grow  more  simple  and 
more  pleasurable  to  our  people.  Then 
will  the  garden  be  the  true  pleasure- 
ground,  and  its  wise  stillness  will  pervade 


The  Waning  Year  and  its  Suggestions 

the  character  of  the  men  who  find  its  cul- 
ture  a  real  education,  and  there  learn  the 
needed  lessons  of  perseverance,  and  pa- 
tient waiting  for  the  good  the  future 
brings,  —  leading  lives  without  hurry,  full 
of  calm  interest  in  their  surroundings,  and 
with  no  wish  for  change. 
275 


XXII 
UTILITY  VERSUS  BEAUTY 


Happy  art  thou,  whom  God  does  bless 
With  the  full  choice  of  thine  own  happiness ; 
And  happier  yet,  because  thou  'rt  blest 
With  prudence  how  to  choose  the  best : 
In  books  and  gardens  thou  hast  placed  aright 
(Things  which  thou  well  dost  understand. 
And  both  dost  make  with  thy  laborious  hand) 
Thy  noble,  innocent  delight. 

ABRAHAM  COWLBY. 

The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy  !    O  wind, 
If  winter  comes,  can  spring  be  far  behind  ? 

SHBLUHT. 


XXII 

spite  of  all  the  moral  effects  A  trial  to 

,          ...  tht  temper. 

of  the  garden  upon  the  philoso- 


pher within  us,  I  am  constrained 
to  confess  that  it  has  its  trials 
for  the  average  temper,  and  that  in  that 
development  of  patience  for  which  it 
works,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  stumbling 
by  the  way,  during  the  battle  between  the 
useful  and  the  ornamental ;  for  on  any 
moderate-sized  place,  with  only  a  man  or 
two  to  do  the  necessary  work,  there  is  a 
constant  conflict  between  what  is  of  pres- 
ent importance,  and  what  serves  for  future 
adornment. 

This  is  one  reason  why  we  like  to  have 
as  many  things  done  in  the  autumn  as 
can  safely  be  accomplished  at  that  time, 
because  of  all  seasons  of  the  year  the 
spring  is  the  one  when  everything  comes 
at  once,  and  your  factotum  is  more  than 
279 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

ever  distracted  by  the  various  calls  upon 
his  time  and  attention. 

I  used  to  wonder  why  fanners  were 
always  behindhand  with  their  work,  and, 
while  apparently  idle  part  of  their  time, 
were  driven  to  death  for  about  two  thirds 
of  the  year;  but  I  have  discovered  that 
the  weather  is  responsible  for  a  good  deal, 
first  by  being  cold  and  perhaps  wet  in 
the  spring,  so  that  the  ground  cannot  be 
tilled  until  late,  and  then  suddenly  sending 
everything  ahead  by  a  few  unseasonable 
days  of  heat  and  sunshine.  Then  there 
is  a  scurry  for  the  hitherto  impracticable 
digging  of  the  vegetable-garden,  a  head- 
long rush  to  get  the  seeds  in ;  the  grass, 
which  always  interferes  at  unseasonable 
moments,  demands  the  lawn-mower,  and 
will  not  wait  a  minute.  The  shrubs  that 
you  have  been  waiting  to  move  until  the 
weather  should  be  mild  enough  to  permit 
your  superintending  the  operation  (one 
can  cope  with  a  piercing  east  wind  for 
this  purpose,  but  not  with  a  northwest 
snowstorm)  shake  off  their  icicles,  and 
all  at  once  begin  to  leave  out ;  in  a  day 
or  two  it  will  be  too  late.  If  there  is 
280 


Utility  versus  Beauty 


a  tree  that  you  have  intended  to  plant 
at  this  season  the  complications  are  in- 
creased, for  setting  a  tree  properly  is  a 
work  of  time,  and  delay  here  is  danger- 
ous. 

The  perennials  need  overhauling  and 
replanting  in  the  flower-garden  ;  the  weeds 
are  rushing  ahead  and  choking  every- 
thing ;  you  want  your  man  to  attend  to 
them  when  he  has  to  be  putting  in  peas 
and  potatoes  for  your  future  sustenance. 

The  whole  spring  is  one  breathless 
moment,  through  which  you  are  rushed 
helter-skelter,  leaving  half  your  needs  un- 
attended to ;  and  while  you  are  still  en- 
deavoring to  catch  up  with  the  work,  all 
of  a  sudden  our  headlong  summer  bounces 
into  haying  time,  and  the  hapless  beautifier 
is  worse  off  than  ever. 

Of  what  account  are  trees  and  shrubs 
and  flowers,  or  even  the  ever-clamoring 
lawn  itself,  when  the  fields  are  to  be 
shorn,  and  possible  thunderstorms  lurk 
low  along  the  horizon  ?  This  is  the  weeds' 
moment,  and  they  avail  themselves  of 
it  promptly.  Up  comes  the  Chickweed 
among  the  peas  and  corn ;  the  flower- 
281 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

garden  fairly  bristles  with  Plantains  and 
Mallows,  and  the  paths  are  slippery  with 
Purslane.  On  the  lawn  the  Dandelions 
begin  to  intrude,  and  go  to  seed  when 
they  are  only  an  inch  high,  lying  down 
deceitfully  under  the  lawn-mower,  and 
poking  up  their  white  plumes  the  minute 
it  has  passed  in  the  most  imperturbable 
manner. 

1*  is  °*  no  use  to  summon  any  one. 
"  That  grass  must  be  cut  to-day,"  or  "  the 
hay  must  be  turned,  or  forked  over,  or 
got  in,  or  whatever  "  —  there  is  no  appeal ; 
harvest-claims  take  precedence,  and  the 
weeds  nod  their  heads  at  each  other,  and 
say  "  Come  along  !  "  and  life  is  to  them  a 
beautiful  holiday. 

By  the  time  the  last  load  of  hay  has 
been  safely  stowed  away,  these  same  weeds 
have  to  be  coped  with,  for  they  have  be- 
come a  forest,  and  that  still  further  post- 
pones the  time  when  the  aesthetic  side  of 
your  place  can  really  have  any  considera- 
tion given  to  it.  At  last,  when  you  do  get 
round  to  it,  it  is  too  late  to  do  anything, 
and  one  can  only  sit  down  and  make  plans 
for  another  season,  which  will  again  be 
282 


Utility  versus  Beauty 


buried  out  of  sight,  in  the  rush  which  is 
sure  of  a  periodical  return. 

For  this  reason  August  is  a  month  Auf^ta 
which  I  delight  in,  for  then  there  is  a  * 
moment's  breathing-space  before  the  fruit 
harvest  and  the  terrible  "  second  crop  " 
are  again  upon  the  carpet.  It  is  a  good 
time  for  grading  and  sodding  before  the 
autumn  rains.  With  care,  and  a  ball  of 
earth,  some  of  the  hardy  shrubs  can  be 
moved  ;  if  it  has  been  a  dry  summer,  now 
is  the  chance  to  put  in  some  evergreens 
and  to  remodel  your  beds  of  dwarfs.  But 
no  sooner  do  we  get  fairly  to  work,  and 
the  general  effect  begins  to  improve  and 
ideas  to  take  shape,  than  the  marsh, 
which  usually  claims  the  whole  late  fall, 
and  the  months  of  March  and  April,  puts 
in  an  appeal  for  drainage,  and,  presto! 
the  men  who  were  engaged  in  ornamental 
work  are  whisked  away,  and  you  can  only 
see  the  tops  of  their  heads  above  the  edge 
of  a  pile  of  dirt,  as  they  burrow  their  way 
along  an  unsightly  ditch. 

Then  comes  September  with  its  pears  pfarsatfrf 
and  apples.   Your  own  fruit  is  a  fine  thing  somfcare- 
to  have  in  theory,  beautiful  to  look  for- 
283 


Tbe  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

ward  to,  something  to  be  proud  of,  but  it 
is  a  tremendous  burden  when  it  comes. 
The  gathering  is  an  important  labor,  but 
taking  care  of  it  when  it  is  gathered  is  in- 
finitely worse.  The  pears,  especially,  must 
be  watched  daily,  turned  and  selected, 
and  the  refuse  rejected,  till  their  owner 
would  be  happier  if  he  never  saw  a  Bart- 
lett  or  a  Jargonelle  again.  The  early 
apples,  welcome  and  useful  as  they  are, 
demand  the  closest  attention,  and  it  is  not 
until  the  last  Russet  is  gathered,  and  bar- 
reled, and  stowed  away  in  the  cellar  for 
winter  use,  that  the  amateur  farmer  can 
have  an  easy  mind. 
Profit  m  a  Perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  to  choose  be- 

ftirdtn  afttr  t 

-//.  tween  ornamental  and  useful  management 

of  a  place  to  begin  with,  and  content  your- 
self with  either  a  farm  or  a  garden,  as  the 
case  might  be ;  but  in  this  event,  though 
one  would  probably  have  better  results  to 
show,  he  would  miss  much  of  the  fun  of 
the  more  helter-skelter  methods  of  land- 
scape-practice, as  well  as  the  profits  of 
orderly  market-gardening,  which  can  never 
be  very  successful  in  the  hands  of  ama- 
teurs. There  is,  however,  a  sense  of  profit 
284 


Utility  versus  Beauty 


in  your  own  garden  as  an  accessory,  what- 
ever statistics  show,  which  is  not  to  be  fore- 
gone ;  and,  as  to  the  pleasure  of  getting 
trees  and  shrubs  in  their  proper  places, 
who  that  has  read  these  chapters  can 
doubt  that  they  are  a  source  of  amuse- 
ment and  instruction  alike,  even  to  the 
most  unpractical  of  their  protectors  ? 

The  problems  of  the  old  place  will  con- 
tinue  to  develop  and  add  puzzle  to  puzzle  Sr" 
in  our  uninstructed  minds;  we  may  pay 
dear  for  our  whistle,  but  we  shall  have 
the  whistle  anyhow.  After  a  few  more 
years  of  experiment  and  failure,  or  suc- 
cess, as  the  wheel  turns,  we  shall  proba- 
bly come  to  the  conclusion  to  let  the  grass 
and  shrubs  grow  as  they  will  under  the 
trees,  and  let  the  rest  go,  which  will,  I  am 
disposed  to  think,  be  wholly  to  the  advan- 
tage of  the  looker-on.  But  while  some 
vestige  of  vigor  is  left  to  us,  we  shall  think 
the  puzzle  part  more  interesting  than  the 
solution,  and  so  struggle  happily  on,  set- 
ting for  ourselves  ingenious  examples,  to 
be  painfully  worked  out  perhaps  to  a 
wrong  result.  Interest  in  the  place  will 
be  less  when  we  can  no  longer  tinker  at  it 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

to  advantage,  but  to  that  excitement  will 
possibly  succeed  the  calm  enjoyment  of 
those  who  sit  under  the  tree  they  have 
planted,  and  partake  of  the  fruits  of  their 
own  vine. 

As  we  look  up  to-day  to  the  trees,  upon 
whose  tops  we  could  look  down  three 
years  ago,  we  begin  to  realize  the  profit  of 
our  labors,  and  to  feel  that  we  may  even 
live  to  take  pride  in  them.  The  birds  which 
sing  in  their  branches,  and  build  their  nests 
among  the  twigs,  thank  us  sweetly  for  the 
shelter  thus  provided,  though  their  harmo- 
nious chatter  adds  to  the  precariousness 
of  a  morning  nap.  The  shrubs  expand 
with  vigor,  the  flowers  we  have  planted 
flaunt  gayly,  the  vines  are  climbing  to  the 
roof-tree.  The  spot  not  long  ago  so  deso- 
late and  unpromising  is  now  sheltered  and 
verdant.  The  dull  red  walls  of  the  house 
have  taken  on  a  mantle  of  green,  as  it 
begins  to  nestle  into  the  shadow  of  the 
upreaching  branches,  that  will  erelong 
overtop  its  chimneys.  The  raw  freshness 
has  largely  disappeared,  the  new  place  is 
melting  into  the  old,  and  in  a  few  years 
more  people  will  have  forgotten,  as  they 
286 


Utility  versus  Beauty 


so  soon  do,  the  former  conditions,  and 
will  cease  to  realize  the  importance  of  the 
changes  made. 

The  beauty  of  stately  expanses,  of  deep 
solitudes,  of  extensive  lawns,  and  broad 
park-like  spaces,  we  can  never  attain,  but 
travelers  on  the  village  highway  will  look 
kindly  through  the  overarching  trees  and 
say,  "  A  pleasant  home  is  there,  and  a  fair 
outlook  on  a  quiet  scene." 

Already  the  Willows  of  the  boundary  Summer  Jr 
stretch  up  to  hide  us  from  the  rear.  The 
Pines  are  showing  dark  once  more,  against 
the  hill  sunbrowned  by  the  September 
sun.  Yellow  leaves  are  shining  on  the 
Elms  and  Birches,  and  the  shrill  wind 
streaks  the  green  grass  with  bright-hued 
foliage,  torn  from  the  Maple  boughs.  The 
gay-colored  blossoms  of  autumn  flowers 
gleam  from  the  shrubberies,  and  the  low- 
declining  sun  casts  long  shadows  across 
the  turf.  Soon  will  a  nipping  frost  bestrew 
the  lawn  with  wrecks  of  summer  glory; 
the  birds  are  gathering  for  their  southern 
flight ;  the  year  is  past  its  prime.  A  few 
short  weeks  of  hectic  color,  and  then  — 
the  end,  the  sleep,  the  long  dull  silence  of 
287 


The  Rescue  of  an  Old  Place 

winter,  the  sheets  of  snow,  the  chains  of 
ice,  that  bind  the  earth  until  her  re-awak- 
ening. 

How  swift  the  silent  succession  of  the 
''  months !  September  seems  to  tread  upon 
the  train  of  June,  it  is  so  quickly  here,  so 
quickly  gone.  The  Goldenrod  is  the  first 
plume  of  the  year's  hearse,  yet  when  its 
earliest  yellow  feathers  wave  we  burn  un- 
der the  hot  breath  of  summer,  but  ere  they 
lose  all  their  gold,  the  hand  of  death  is 
on  the  grass,  and  the  brown  leaves  have 
fallen. 

Autumn  A  cold  rain  patters  on  the  gravel  walk, 

and  the  branches  of  the  trees  are  dripping 
as  they  hang  unstirred.  The  sky  is  gloomy 
and  leaden,  —  one  vast  gray  cloud  sullenly 
enwraps  the  heavens.  There  is  no  hope, 
no  outlook  ;  all  is  sad  and  drear,  —  rain 
over  head,  a  wet  earth  under  foot  Sum- 
mer has  gone ;  the  chill  of  autumn  is  here. 
But  hark !  what  is  that  murmur  ?  It  is  the 
northwest  wind  blowing  his  distant  horn, 
and  in  a  twinkling  the  leaden  skies  are 
broken  with  windows  of  light.  The  gray 
scud  whisks  up  toward  the  zenith,  the 
wet  trees  shake  off  their  burden,  and  wave 
288 


Utility  versus  Beauty 


" 


joyfully  in  the  keen  breeze.  October  October 
comes  !  What  though  his  tramp  is  over 
the  dead  leaves  i  He  comes  like  a  warrior 
from  battle,  fresh  and  strong,  inspiriting 
and  brave.  "  Be  not  cast  down  !  "  he 
cries,  "  by  the  death  of  fair  summer.  Bold 
winter  succeeds  to  the  throne.  He  is  a 
king  worth  having,  and  his  reign  shall  re- 
store your  vigor,  men  of  the  north  !  He 
helps  to  make  you  what  you  are  !  Behind 
him,  hidden  by  his  furry  mantle,  lurks  the 
spring,  and  then  once  more  the  dead  sum- 
mer shall  be  reborn,  and  the  world  shall 
be  again  all  blossom  and  music  !  " 

So  with  this  bracing  note,  October 
passes  on,  while,  cheered  by  hope  and 
softened  by  memory,  we  leave  the  old 
place  to  sleep  awhile,  and  turn  to  our  win- 
ter fire,  and  the  companionship  of  men 
and  books,  in  lieu  of  birds,  and  trees,  and 
flowers,  which  have  gladdened  us  for  half 
a  year. 

289 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'D 


i  n 


JAN  0  9  1994 
DISCCIRl  OC1    9 '93 


«Om-6,'69 
(J9096slO)476-A-32 


General  Library 
University  of  California 
Berk 


U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


